


A Place to Stay

by sarahyellow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Blood Donation, Blood Drinking, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Depression, Dirty Talk, Drug Use, Feelings Realization, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Homeless Bucky Barnes, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Power Bottom, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Prostitution, Size Difference, Top Bucky Barnes, Topping from the Bottom, Vampire Steve Rogers, mild breathplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-10-05 19:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyellow/pseuds/sarahyellow
Summary: Homeless and weary, Bucky Barnes just wants a guarantee of safety. But as Darcy points out: It's hard to pull yourself up by your bootstraps when you don't have any bootstraps.Opening a vein for Steve Rogers is all he's got left.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, this is what happens. I decide I want to do some kind of easy vampire oneshot, and the next thing I know I've crafted a long, multi-chaptered, moody homeless-Bucky drama with a little shrimpo vampire Steve thrown in at the end.

Trap House:

Whenever Bucky found himself at Brock’s house, he knew he’d hit a low point. It’d happened a few times in the past, and that night it was happening again. 

He was in the living room (or at least he thought he was; all the rooms had ratty couches in them). He’d shoved his backpack under the couch for safe-keeping, fairly certain that it would be safe from sticky hands. There were other people around, most of them shooting up or already high. Bucky felt awkward where he sat. He wasn’t the only homeless person there, he was sure, but he was the one who definitely looked like it. 

In the past three years since he’d left the service, Bucky’s appearance had deteriorated. He’d lost too much weight, his hair was longer, and everything about him just generally screamed that he didn’t have a steady place to go home to at night. That was why he was sitting in Brock’s place. He didn’t want to be, but he’d run out of options.

Plus, he was feeling pretty miserable, and the self-loathing part of himself was sort of yearning for the humiliation of seeing his old CO, being reminded of how far he’d fallen, and plied with drugs and sex. Would he go that far this time? he asked himself. He hadn’t yet. Before he could think too much on it, Brock was coming into the room, and he immediately noticed Bucky.

“Well look who it is,” he said, grinning as he came over. Bucky tried to offer him a smile in return. He had spent eighteen months in the desert, protecting Brock’s ass, after all. And Brock had saved his a time or two. That fact alone meant Bucky couldn’t hate him, no matter how much of a shithead he was. “Thought you weren’t coming around here no more?” Brock said, flopping down right next to Bucky on the couch.

Bucky shrugged. “Well, you know.”

“Hmm.” Brock looked him up and down. “You look like shit.”

 _Ugh_. “Thanks for noticing,” Bucky drawled. Brock just laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, drawing him in against his side without asking permission.

“You gonna hang around awhile this time?” he asked.

Bucky squirmed. He knew what Brock was asking. He wanted to know if Bucky would let him fuck him; if he did, he could stay. The prospect of being under the same roof every night was tempting, but Bucky felt like his skin might crawl right off him if he let Brock have him like that. Brock was an asshole, and he’d treat Bucky like shit, he already knew that. Plus, Bucky thought, looking around at all the junkies in the room—passed out, blissed out, shooting up into arms that were already covered in bite marks and track marks—he’d end up just like them if he stayed, and he’d die, eventually. Maybe sooner rather than later. Despite his ever-sinking self-worth, Bucky just wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

“Dunno,” he told Brock. “For tonight, at least.”

Brock huffed but didn’t argue. One thing he wasn’t, at the very least, was a rapist. “Shit kid, you really do look like crap,” he said again, looking Bucky up and down.

“You gonna clean me up?” 

Brock laughed. “I just might.”

Bucky sunk his head back into the couch’s cushion. “Do I stink?” he asked, because if he tried to do anything, it was to not reek. But he just didn’t trust his own nose these days. 

“Naw,” Brock said. “I wouldn’t be over here if you did.”

Bucky snorted. Of course. His eyes slid around the room, landing on the guy nearest to them. He was slumped on another couch, rubber hose around his arm and barely awake. He had track marks and even more bite marks, Bucky realized. Some of them looked fresh. “You let fangers in here?” he asked.

“Sure.”

Bucky swallowed. “Vamps?” He didn’t mind vampires on principal, but any vampires you found in a crack house weren’t the sort you wanted to risk messing around with. He’d seen enough dead junkies to know that. 

“No vamps,” Brock said, seeing the look on Bucky’s face. “You want a hit?”

Bucky shuddered. “No.” Truthfully, he _did_ want it. There was a reason people in low places got high—it felt good and numbed anything that felt bad. Bucky had a lot of things he could stand to numb, and there wasn’t anything that felt too good in his life at the moment. And Brock was offering it for free. Bucky shrugged. “You know me,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah. Mr. Independent,” Brock acknowledged. He leant over to a nearby table and grabbed some stuff, which Bucky quickly identified. “Clean needles,” Brock said, showing him the still-closed packaging.

“You’re getting fancy,” Bucky murmured, and Brock laughed. 

“Just watching your six, kid. Always did.”

“Hm.”

“Bunch of nuns hand ‘em out down the street.”

Bucky cringed at the thought of a bunch of nice little nuns in Brock’s neighborhood. “Oh.” He took the needle from Brock to turn it over in his hands. “I dunno, Brock. What if—"

“Let me give you a little,” Brock said, thumping his shoulder into Bucky’s in a way that reminded him they were old army buddies. “It’ll be good. I won’t let you get too messed up.”

Bucky huffed, but he didn’t put the needle down, and he didn’t say no. That was enough to have Brock taking it from his hands and moment later, boiling the heroin and leaning over to tie up Bucky’s arm. Bucky felt frozen. _No, no, no_ , his mind screamed at him, but his body did nothing, just sat there, numb and dumb. “Left arm,” he muttered weakly at the last second. Then he watched as the needle sunk in, and it felt something like giving up.

-

He woke up the next day, laying on the bare floor, puddle of vomit next to his face. He groaned and blinked his eyes, feeling disgusted. “Fucking great,” he croaked, rolling over. He could hear a few people up and moving around the house, but mostly it was quiet, the sun coming in through the shutters letting him know it was already afternoon. “God.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and sat up. His stomach lurched as he thought about what he’d done. He yanked up his sleeve and looked down at his arm. Sure enough, there was the needle mark in the crook of his elbow. Bucky scowled at it, feeling lower than he had in his entire life. He let the sleeve drop back down.

He’d made sure Brock shot him up in his left arm. It was scarred to hell and back and didn’t work right, and Bucky didn’t care very much what happened to it. Sometimes, he thought it might’ve been better if the docs at the VA had just cut it off. So what was one new mark? he thought. 

He looked around the room. There were a couple of people passed out. The junkie-fanger from the night before was awake, blinking down at Bucky from his perch on the couch. “You okay?” he asked.

Bucky grunted and got his feet under himself to stand. “Yeah.” Standing, he brushed his clothes flat, though honestly it didn’t make much of a difference. He’d have to find new things to wear soon. He pulled his backpack out from its hiding place, shouldered it and glanced back to the other guy, staring at the marks that littered his neck. “Why do you let them bite you?” he asked, not caring if it was rude. It probably was.

But the guy didn’t even blink. “Why do you let him shoot you up?”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but the shame of what he’d done came flooding back and he found that he didn’t have as good an answer as he would’ve liked. “Touché,” he mumbled, and turned to leave before Brock could show up.

.oOo.

Squid Ink Tattoo:

He’d do the usual run through all the shelters, he decided. In a single day he could walk to five or six of them before nightfall. There was hardly ever an available bed at any of them, but he could always get a decent meal, and sometimes on Sundays one of the do-gooder vans that came from churches in the area would be there, handing out free toiletries or used clothing.

It was a crap shoot. There was no room for more bodies at any of the shelters, like usual. But Bucky wound up at the fifth street shelter last, and Clint saw him when he walked into the cafeteria to get a tray. “Bucky, hey.”

Bucky turned and looked. He smiled a little. “Hey Clint.” Clint worked at the shelter. He was a good man, Bucky thought; always tried his best to get Bucky what he could. Bucky had once complained, embarrassed about the special treatment, but Clint had just told him to shut the fuck up. _You’re a vet, man. You served me, now I’m serving you_. It’d been incredibly corny, but Bucky hadn’t been able to roll his eyes because Clint so obviously meant it. It was nice, Bucky thought, to get appreciation that wasn’t flavored by pity.

“Sorry about the beds,” Clint said, shrugging. “You know how it is this time of year.”

Bucky nodded. “‘Winter is coming’,” he joked, and Clint snorted. Bucky didn’t have a clue what it actually meant, just knew he’d heard it enough to know it was something people said—some pop culture reference or something.

“Clam chowder today,” Clint told him pointedly. “Go get some before it runs out.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Is that safe?” He didn’t want to hurt Clint’s feelings, but seafood, and especially _cream-based_ seafood, generally wasn’t the best bet when it came to shelter cafeterias.

Clint scowled like he was offended, but it was obviously fake. “I wouldn’t tell you to eat it if it wasn’t,” he said. “So grab some.”

“Thanks Clint,” Bucky said, feeling like he had a friend. Maybe he did.

He stuck around the shelter long enough to eat his meal, then lingered for another hour or so, enjoying the heating and an armchair until he started to notice he was getting looks from the other shelter workers. Clint was nowhere to be seen. Bucky headed out to keep on looking for a place to sleep. Contrary to popular belief, living rough didn’t always mean sleeping in alleyways and cardboard boxes. That was dangerous, and usually a last option. Bucky could run through a list of places he knew before it came to that. His next was a place all the way up on thirty-second street. He got to walking.

He made it to _Squid Ink Tattoo_ just as it was truly getting dark. Standing on the sidewalk in front of the place, he peered through the metal gates covering the front door. The shop was closed, but he’d known it would be. The important thing was that there was a light he could see, peeking out from underneath the door in the very back of the shop. Bucky’s face split in a grin. That door, he knew, led to the shop’s storage room, and it was where he was spending the night.

“Way to go, Natasha,” Bucky said quietly as he made his way around back of the building. Whenever the light in the back room was on, he had the go-ahead to slip in and spend the night. 

Natasha Romanov was an artist who rented a booth at Squid Ink. Back when Bucky had just gotten discharged from the VA, she’d done his shoulder piece. The tattoo was the insignia of the expert marksmanship that he’d managed to earn right before he’d been blown up and shipped home. It had been kind of a sick thing to do to himself, when Bucky thought about it, because by that point he’d already known he’d never be firing a rifle again. 

Life was a bitch, but Natasha was Bucky’s lifeline. She was his other friend, he hoped. She was certainly willing to risk a lot for him. Bending down by the dumpster out back, Bucky found the brick that sat loose in its place in the wall. He wiggled it out, grabbed the key that Nat kept hidden there, and slipped the brick back into place. He unlocked the door and went in.

The back room was stocked with old furniture and tattoo supplies. Bucky dropped his backpack on the floor and went over to where Natasha kept a couple of blankets folded up for him. He threw them out, laying down with a sigh. He knew he should be grateful, and he was. He was going to get a warm and safe night’s sleep, relatively comfortable and with a bathroom too. But it was just one night, he knew. The light might not be on tomorrow. Squid Ink wasn’t a guarantee, and honestly? Bucky was just fucking exhausted of never having a guarantee.

.oOo.

Vaseline Hotel:

He folded the blankets back up neatly, stacking them just like they had been, and slipping out. He put the key back behind the brick. He would’ve liked to stay longer, that was how he felt every time. It was a luxury, what Natasha provided for him. But one night at a time was all he dared to take, lest he get Nat caught and lose himself a good situation. So he moved on.

He did the usual shelter run, again, with no success. He was able to grab a fresh tee shirt from one of the church vans though, and a baggie with toothpaste and a deodorant stick. He shoved them in his backpack and continued on. There was a spot, down in the Marble Hill subway station; a weird little nook that hooked behind one of the staircases. It was warm and tucked away, but when Bucky got there, there were already two guys sleeping inside. They glared at him and spread out, making it clear that there was no room for one more. Bucky left.

When he was really looking like he’d have no other option besides a cardboard box, Bucky’s very last option was to earn a night’s rent at Vaseline Hotel. It was a gross name for a gross place; where all the low-end prostitutes from East first Street to East twenty-first shacked up when they had a customer who wanted privacy, or enough extra dough just for themselves. Thirty bucks an hour became fifty bucks a night, but only because Bucky had a pretty face and knew how to sweet talk the manager. It was one step away from a flea-bitten flop house, but it was as cheap as Bucky was ever going to find.

Fifty bucks. Bucky had thirty-two in his backpack. He kept it hidden in the lining to decrease the chances of it being stolen. He’d need another twenty if he wanted a safe night in the hotel, he knew. One suck job would cover that.

Dignity was a funny thing, Bucky contemplated as he walked the sidewalk. It seemed so damned important, until you really needed food, or warmth, or to not be assaulted and have all your worldly possessions stolen in the night. Bucky leant against a building’s wall and watched the other guys who were loitering, waiting for cars to slow down in front of them. 

The men tended to group off into three main categories: twinks, trannies, and the big burly guys. When circumstances necessitated he pick up a john or two, Bucky was never exactly sure where he belonged. A couple of years ago he would have fit right in with the big and burly. But two years ago he sure as shit wouldn’t have been prostituting himself, and he’d lost a lot of his army bulk since then besides. 

So he kind of lingered in the stretch of sidewalk between the burlys and the twinks. Twinks got the best business, he knew, so he edged a bit closer to them. He pulled his hair out of its bun and raked his fingers through it, threw on his new tee shirt, and tried to pull his shoulders down to seem smaller. One suck job, that’s all he had to do. Bucky could compete with the regulars, he knew, because he had a pretty face. If he was lucky, he’d get a closeted rich guy who’d come fast, shove too much cash at him without thinking, and bark at him to get the hell out of the car before he sped off.

.oOo.

Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Children:

Homelessness wasn’t something that happened all at once. Bucky certainly didn’t become as wretched as he was in a day. No, he thought as he approached the alleyway where the entrance to Sister Margaret’s was. It crept up on you; the slow decline of circumstance.

When he’d first been evicted from his apartment, he’d still managed to find and hold onto a service job at a fast food joint. But his arm didn’t work right, and back then he’d still had panic attacks pretty regularly. Nobody wanted a one-armed, brain-fried soldier as an employee, no matter how simple the work. And once you became homeless, it became increasingly difficult to maintain the appearance that you weren’t. Employers didn’t like that, either. 

One thing Bucky _had_ been qualified to do, though, was steal, intimidate and kill. Two years ago he’d still been big in that way that only the army could really get you, he’d still had a handgun, and most importantly, he’d still had some fucking self-confidence. Sister Margaret’s was where you went if you had all three of those things, plus the willingness to do crime for money. 

So for a short time, Bucky had been a mercenary.

Bucky stood outside the bar’s entrance, trying to work up the courage to go back in. He didn’t look like much, anymore. If any of the mercs inside recognized him, they’d probably laugh. And Bucky was pretty positive he wouldn’t be hired to do much more than steal a bicycle. Because he didn’t have the bulk, he didn’t have the gun, and he’d lost pretty much all his self-confidence in the intervening years. 

He thought about how, if he didn’t at least try, then it’d be either another trip to skid row to let some stranger fuck him for fifty bucks, or else sleeping in a soggy box and chancing getting mugged, or worse. Sighing, he straightened up and went inside. He saw Weasel right away, and Weasel made a face. “Bucky?” 

Bucky smiled despite himself. “Hey,” he said, going over and seating himself at the bar. 

Weasel tossed his dishrag towards the backbar and leant forward on the counter. “Wow. Long time no see.”

“I’m surprised you recognized me.”

“Me too. You look like shit.”

Bucky huffed, shaking his head. “Yeah. You’re not the first person to tell me that this week.”

Weasel hummed, and Bucky could tell he was looking him over. “You’re living rough now, huh?”

“I was living rough before. I was just better at hiding it,” Bucky said. He met Weasel's eyes. “I need work.”

“Aw, man,” Weasel said, wincing. “Can’t you just ask for a beer or something?”

“Something easy,” Bucky said. “Come on. I’ve got a skill set. Haven’t forgotten how to use it.”

“I dunno man. You look rough. What have you even got? A piece?”

“No.”

“Car?”

“No.”

Weasel raised one eyebrow. “Your arm still broken?”

Bucky glared. “Yes.”

“So you’re gonna do crime with what? Your good looks?”

Bucky shrugged. “I can manage. If you loan me a gun I can—"

“—Dude, I don’t want to sound harsh, but nobody’s going to hire you,” Weasel said. “Look around. These guys are professionals and you’re… not.”

Bucky turned in his bar stool and looked out at the room. There were maybe fifteen people milling about, and all of them looked tougher, meaner and more put-together than Bucky himself did. Bucky’s shoulders slumped. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

What had he been thinking? That he’d just cruise back in and relive his glory days? Go beat up somebody’s ex-husband? Knock off a pedophile or two? “Shit,” Bucky repeated, and turned back around towards the bar. He thunked his head down into his hands, feeling pathetic. _Why_ hadn’t he gone to college before enlisting? “I need money,” he said. “What the hell am I gonna do?” 

Weasel shrugged. “Drink?”

Bucky glared at him. “I don’t have any money to fucking drink.” _God_ , he could remember how an _easy_ job used to net him two hundred bucks, cash in hand. What he wouldn’t give for a quarter of that, now.

“Don’t worry about it,” Weasel said, waving his hand dismissively. He reached under the bar for the whiskey and poured Bucky a glass. “S’bottom shelf, but I’ll let you get loaded on it for free tonight.”

Bucky stared at him, disbelieving. “What? Why?”

Weasel shrugged. “You’re pathetic. I feel bad for you …And you roughed up my cousin that one time for me.”

 _Fucking great_. Bucky wanted to say something mean, but found he couldn’t bring himself to. He wanted the whiskey more. “Thanks,” he muttered, grabbing the glass and standing. “I’ll be over here.”

“Sure thing.” 

Bucky slid into one of the empty booths that lined the wall, avoiding the gazes of the other people around. He hunkered down over his drink and prayed that nobody would try to bother him. _Unless they were in need of a very un-capable assassin_ , he thought bitterly.

He was able to get through his first drink, before someone abruptly slid into the other side of his booth. Bucky looked up and sighed in recognition. Jessica Fucking Jones.

“Barnes,” she said. She was making herself right at home, it seemed; leaning heavily back in the booth and setting her drink on the table. She looked the same as Bucky remembered her: thin, pale, black hair, and in the way.

“What do you want?”

“Haven’t seen you around here in a long time. Wondering why you’re back. Making trouble again?”

Bucky scoffed. “Leave me alone.” Jessica Jones was a P.I. who had liked to poke around Sister Margaret’s for clues, back in the day. It seemed like she still did. Bucky eyed her assessingly, thinking that she didn’t seem too sober. “You here for the work or the booze?” he sneered. 

Jessica tensed. Downing the last of her drink, she set it firmly aside and levelled him with a _look_. “I’m here on business.”

Bucky snorted. “Working on a vodka whodunit?”

“No,” she said flatly. “A murder. Happened right near here, actually.”

“Didn’t do it, didn’t see it,” Bucky muttered.

“Hm.” Bucky wasn’t looking at her, but he could _feel_ her gaze on him. “You look rough,” she finally said.

Bucky jerked up straight, suddenly furious. “You know what? I’m getting tired of people telling me that.”

Jessica tilted her head. “What _are_ you doing back here?”

“Trying to get a fucking break!” Bucky practically yelled. A few heads in the bar turned their way, but he ignored them. “I’m at the end of my rope, Jones, and you’re persona non grata in this place. I wouldn’t get hired to steal a baby’s candy with you sitting here talking to me, so can you please just fuck off?”

She paused, looking at him intently for a long moment. “You down on your luck?” she asked, and her tone was less haughty.

Bucky flushed, but nodded. “Yeah. Way down.”

“…Here.” She dug in her jacket pocket, then pulled something out and slid it across the table. It looked like a business card. Bucky reached for it.

“What’s this?” He glanced down at it. _Symbiotic Solutions, 127 McKinley Ave. Ste 341._ Bucky squinted, confused. The name was vague. He flipped the card over and saw the wording on the back. _Professional and Discreet Blood-Pair Facilitation Services._ Bucky blinked, surprised. “A fanger service?” he asked. He’d heard of them before, but didn’t know what they were like. The junkies he saw on the streets weren’t the sorts who went to _agencies_ for it. He looked back up at Jessica. “Are you serious?”

Jessica shrugged. “I’ve met a few people who do it for pay. They say it’s better than, you know, the _alternatives_.” She said “alternatives” like Bucky should know what that meant—he did—and that he should turn his nose up at it—he didn’t.

“Oh, because sticking your neck out is so much classier than sticking your dick out,” he snapped.

“It’s certainly safer,” she said, shrugging. She didn’t seem to care that Bucky was offended. “It’s a legit place, but if you’re not interested,” she went to draw the card back across the table.

Bucky surprised himself with how fast he flung his hand out to stop her. She raised an eyebrow at him as he picked the card back up and stared down at it like it might suddenly have new words written on it. “Damn clinics don’t even want my sperm, I’m so filthy,” he murmured. “Why the hell would some sucker want my blood?”

Jessica pursed her lips. “They don’t like being called that, you know.” That didn’t answer Bucky’s question, and he stared at her impatiently. She sighed. “These places don’t care about diseases, just taste.”

Bucky wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know…”

She shrugged. “Like I said, just an idea. If you’re running out of options, you should think about it. Don’t come back to all this,” she gestured around the bar, “and make me track your ass down.”

Bucky scoffed. “You wouldn’t be able to.” 

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Whatever.”

She got up to leave, but at the last second Bucky called out, “Jones?”

“Yeah?”

“…It’s safe?”

She looked back over her shoulder at him, something like pity on her face. “Safe enough.”

Bucky huffed. Jessica disappeared, and he was left to stare at the card and order more whiskey on the rocks. He did that until closing, and then, for the first time in a long time, he slept out on the street.

.oOo.

Symbiotic Solutions:

The blood bank was all the way in Brooklyn, was the problem. And when Bucky woke up, hung over and achy from sleeping on a stack of cardboard boxes, he knew he was in no fit state to try and promote himself to some posh vampire-victim dating agency. He scoffed at himself for even contemplating the idea.

But he didn’t throw the card away.

He did the shelter rounds again, stuffing his face to get rid of the hangover. By the time he found himself heading into the fifth street shelter, he’d halfway talked himself into the blood bank idea. Clint saw him on his way in and immediately gave him an apologetic wince. “We’re full-up, Buck,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I…don’t need a bed.” Well he did, but… “Can I ask you for a favor?”

Clint looked surprised. “A favor? Like what?” He shrugged. “I’ll help any way I can.”

Bucky smiled. “I need a fresh set of clothes and a bathroom,” he said. “I need to get cleaned up.”

“Job?”

Bucky froze. “Um… something like that.”

“That’s great, man! You can use the bathrooms here to wash up. Just, uh, avoid the other staff. And lie if they ask you if you’ve got a bed.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll look and see what we have in the way of clothing, but I don’t know if I’ll find anything like, professional.”

Bucky waved that off. “It’s not that kind of job. I just need to look like a regular person, that’s all.” 

“Kay,” Clint nodded, seeming enthused. “Follow me then. Let’s see what we can do!”

-

 _Symbiotic Solutions_ was housed on the third floor of a row building. Bucky passed several law offices and medical practices before he got to the suite he was looking for. There was a receptionist waiting just inside the door to greet him. She pointed to a clipboard on the counter, telling him to sign in. Bucky scribbled his name and the time, and checked the “human donor” box, feeling weird as he did it. The next box over read “recipient.” His lips twisted as he figured that must be the polite term for it, here.

The waiting room was small and tidy, just like a doctor’s office really. Bare-bones chairs and outdated magazines, an afterthought of a kids’ play area stuffed into one corner. Bucky had an odd sort of flashback to his many visits at the VA, back when he’d been trying to piece his life together and the doctors trying to do the same for his arm... 

He blinked, refocusing his gaze on the dozen or so people sitting around the waiting room. He stared, trying to piece out if any of them might be vampires, but nothing gave him a clue either way. He went to take a seat before he started to look weird, just loitering in the middle of the room. He grabbed up an issue of _Good Housekeeping_ , and flitted between reading that and glancing over to the play corner, wondering who the hell would drag their kid along to a fanger agency. 

Eventually a girl poked her head through the door into the waiting room and called out for “James Barnes?” Bucky got up and she bounced in place, nodding at him. “Follow me.” Back in another room, Bucky took a seat and the girl—whose nametag read _Darcy_ —twisted her lips as she flicked the screen of her tablet. “Human donor,” she read. “Huh, I pegged you as a recipient.” 

“Excuse me?”

“Eh, you’ve got that world-weary look about you.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He’d thought he’d done a pretty good job of cleaning himself up. “I…don’t get out much,” is what came out of his mouth. “Uh. Sorry.”

Darcy waved a hand. “Oh, well you know. Who does these days? I’m gonna go track down our nurse, and she’ll come in and take your blood, okay?”

Bucky balked. “What? I thought there was an interview?!”

Darcy rolled her eyes at him. “Oh there is. Don’t worry. She’s not going to drain you dry.” She winked. “We take a sample for analysis, then add it to our bank. That’s how we pair you up on compatibility,” she said.

“Oh.” Bucky relaxed back into his seat, feeling dumb. “Okay.” 

The nurse came in and set to work. She didn’t say much to him besides asking him to roll up his sleeve and make a fist. Bucky did so, watching as she tied off his arm with the tourniquet and swiped the skin at his inner elbow, tapping to get the veins to surface. Bucky had a flash of the inside of Brock’s house, the crummy couches and the half-awake junkies on them, getting high. _Him_ getting high. _Ugh_.

“You want to look away?” the nurse asked, and Bucky snapped back to attention. 

“I always watch.”

She shrugged and stuck the needle in with no further fanfare. She filled one vial, popped it off, filled another. It was entirely weird to sit and watch his blood come out and fill tube after tube, when he knew the sample was going to be whisked away and waved under a vampire’s nose. …Or something. Bucky shrugged his sleeve back down after she finished up, glad to have his scars covered up again. 

“You an intravenous drug user?” the woman asked, almost casual-like. She wasn’t looking at him, and Bucky’s guts churned at the thought that she’d recognized the mark on his arm for what it was.

He frowned. “Someone told me that didn’t matter here.”

The woman met his eyes then, and Bucky took note of her nametag: _Sharon_. “It doesn’t,” she said. “Our clients can’t catch anything.”

“Well then why the hell are you asking?” Bucky snapped. It was mean, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was used to being judged, but he sure as hell didn’t like it.

Sharon nodded like she realized that the conversation was over. She gathered her kit up and headed for the door, throwing a quiet, “Take care of yourself,” over her shoulder as she went. Bucky didn’t get the chance to say anything back.

-

“Okay, let’s get this puppy rolling,” Darcy chirped when she returned to the room. She plunked down into a swivel chair and did a spin or two, flicking across the screen of her tablet. “Okay.” She stopped mid-spin, facing Bucky. Bucky stared at her. “We ran your blood. You’re what we call f10 type, which is good. That’s a popular one.”

Bucky made a face. “Uh, okay.”

She tapped the screen. “Now I’ll ask you a bunch of intake questions—just general stuff. Then I’ll get a sense of what sort of situation you’re looking for.” At Bucky’s blank look, she supplied, “You have a lot of options for donation, like if you want to be paired with one person or a few, or if you want to look for a long-term pairing or just something short-term.”

Bucky swallowed, feeling nervous. “I didn’t know there were that many choices. Sounds… complicated.” He rubbed his hands together. “I just want to make some money, you know?”

Darcy paid more attention to him at that. She peered over her glasses at him. “Sure,” she said. “But are you sure this is how you want to do it? There are other things, if this doesn’t feel right to you. Like, Uber and stuff.”

Bucky fought back a scoff. “Yeah, that’s not an option for me.” He looked down at his hands, feeling embarrassed and not wanting to delve further into the topic of how severely limited his options were, at this point. He bet most people who came to agencies like this weren’t nearly as desperate as him, probably just office workers looking for a thrill, college students looking for some easy cash. “It’s fine,” he hurried. “I know what I’m getting in to.” He totally _didn’t_ , but he was scared of raising some red flag with this girl and eliminating himself as a candidate before he’d even begun. Trying to put on a brave face, he nodded at her tablet. “Let’s do it,” he said.

Darcy clicked her tongue and began asking him questions: Name? Age? Height? Weight? Ethnicity? 

Bucky had no clue why his weight or race mattered, but he just shrugged and told her anyway, answering each question as she rattled them off. He didn’t stumble until she got to the questions about his contact information. “Um, what?” he said, feeling his skin prickle in panic. “My address?”

“Yeah. We’ll need to get in contact with you if your sample gets chosen.”

“ _If?_ ”

Darcy looked up at him, perhaps sensing the worry in his tone. “Our _receiving_ clients pick the samples they’re interested in,” she said carefully. “That’s how the process works.”

“Oh.” Bucky wrung his hands and thought about how that definitely meant he wasn’t going to be getting paid for anything that day. “I guess I just thought it’d be more of a drain-and-go kind of deal,” he joked, though it fell flat. 

Darcy was frowning at him. “Dude, this isn’t a sperm bank.”

Bucky grimaced. “I know that,” he said, and it came out sounding defensive. “Sorry, I’m just new to this is all.”

Darcy hummed, still looking at him carefully. She poised her finger back over her tablet. “Address?”

Bucky stared at her, cheeks burning. “I uh, don’t have one,” he mumbled. “I move around a lot.”

“I see. Phone number?” _God_. Bucky wanted to disappear. He just shrugged at her in lieu of an answer, and Darcy sat back, lowered her tablet to her lap. She nodded. “Oh. I see.”

“Look, I really just need—”

“I get it,” Darcy said, looking at him sympathetically. “Hard to pull yourself up by your bootstraps when you don’t have any bootstraps, right?”

Bucky’s lips parted, surprised. “Yeah,” he said. “You don’t… you’re not gonna kick me out?”

Darcy twisted her lips. “No. Sheezus, that’d be pretty mean.” Her eyes looked him over, roaming up and down his body assessingly. It didn’t do much to help with the blush that Bucky suspected was close to becoming full-body by then. “You always look like this?” she asked, gesturing up and down at him with her finger.

Bucky huffed. “No.”

“Hm. Thought so.” Maybe Bucky scowled or something at that, because she was quick to add, “I lived rough once, for a while.” Bucky blinked at her, surprised, and she nodded. “Foster care. The dump hits you hard.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She sighed heavily and looked like she was thinking. “Okay, so normally this all takes time, you know? We put you in the system and if anybody picks you, we get in touch and set up an interview.”

Bucky exhaled through his teeth. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Obviously not going to work with you.” She regarded him carefully. “We do have emergencies that come up; clients who need same-day donors. But it’s usually a one and done, you know? That doesn’t pay as much. Plus,” she bit her lip. “Those clients tend to be the least…” She struggled for a word. “Um… well adjusted?”

“Are they dangerous?” Bucky asked.

“No. No it’s not that.”

“Then I don’t care,” Bucky said solemnly. “I’ll do it. I’ll do one of those… emergency, cases.”

“Okay.” Darcy went to work entering more information on her tablet. “You good with waiting?” she asked. “It might be a while before we get somebody in.”

Bucky wanted to ask what “a while” was, but held back. He could make it a day or two, even if he was _way_ outside of his usual stomping grounds, out in the Brooklyn suburbs. He’d spotted a Panera on his walk over from the subway station (Homelessness 101: memorize the restaurants that set out all their extra food at the end of the day). He’d just have to find a halfway decent corner to curl up in at night. It was less than ideal, but Bucky figured he could make it work for a day or two. “Can I hang out in here during business hours?” he asked, hopeful.

Darcy made a face. “Ugh, not in the waiting room.” Bucky must have looked offended or something because Darcy quickly added, “Our receptionist, Janie, is a pretentious see-you-next-Tuesday.” Bucky raised his eyebrows. “But… I’ll get you set up in the break room. Stay there and don’t get in anybody’s way and it should be fine.”

Bucky exhaled in relief. He felt a sudden surge of gratitude well up as he realized that this Darcy was giving him more of a helping hand than the vast majority of people were generally willing to. He mentally grouped her into the same category as Nat and Clint. “Thank you,” he said, trying to convey through his expression just how much this meant.

Darcy just shrugged like it was no big deal, which was a great boon to Bucky’s pride. “Eh, you know. Bootstraps, and all.”

-

In the breakroom, Bucky took a seat one of the couches and entertained himself by making a lousy cup of coffee and ranking the items in the vending machines by desirability. He was in the middle trying to decide whether he liked classic or cool ranch Doritos best, when the door opened and the nurse who’d taken his blood earlier walked in. She looked him over coolly and Bucky couldn’t figure out why. 

“Hey,” he mumbled, remembering what Darcy had said about staying out of the way. Sharon’s eyes narrowed. She grabbed one of the mismatched swivel chairs that lined the break room table and pulled it over, sat on it backwards and leant over its backrest to level him with an intimidating stare. Bucky gulped. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” she said. “I just talked to Darcy. She said you’re pretty desperate.” She didn’t make any attempt to mince her words, and Bucky felt his cheeks color in embarrassment.

“I don’t see how that’s your business,” he grumbled. 

“I want to talk to you about your lifestyle,” she said, no nonsense.

“My ‘lifestyle’?” He scowled. “Leave me alone.”

“Are you a junkie?” she pressed, not backing down.

“No!” Bucky glared at her. “How does one freaking pinprick in my arm lead you to that conclusion?! Jesus.” He huffed and sat back despondently. 

Sharon went quiet for a moment. She seemed to be considering him. “You could barely make a fist when I told you to,” she said. “So what’re all the scars from? A gang?”

“Army,” Bucky grunted, not at all willing to tell her any more than that. “Where’s your bitchiness come from?” 

She looked disappointingly unaffected. “If you’re going to be paired with an emergency client, I have a responsibility to make sure you’re not some psycho.”

“ _'You'_ have a responsibility?” 

“Yeah. Me.” She noded at him. “So?” What’s your story? You a fetishist?"

"No."

"A new release or something?”

Bucky frowned, confused until he figured out what she was asking him. “From _prison?_ No!” 

“Well what then?”

“I’m just here for a job.”

“You _do_ know that we track our blood-pairs carefully, right? So if you think you’re going to find some easy mark to—"

“—God, just shut up already,” Bucky snapped. “I told you: I’m just here to make some money. You should work on not being so goddamn judgmental.” He looked away from her, not wanting the conversation to continue.

The sound of the chair swiveling back to the table came, and Bucky didn’t have to look up to know that Sharon had walked back over to the door. He could feel her gaze boring into him in the quiet.

“…I just don’t want you jumping into some relationship with somebody and fucking up their life. You might be doing it for the money, but this is a big deal for them,” she said. “Especially emergency cases. They’re vulnerable. So don’t go messing up somebody’s life just because you don’t take it seriously.”

Bucky’s eyes shot over to her, confused. She was suddenly speaking with a modicum of tenderness, as if she was talking about someone she knew. “What?” Bucky said, because it was just such a sudden flip in tone. “What are you talking about?” Sharon went tight-lipped then and Bucky frowned. “Wait, was this… was this some sort of _shovel talk_?”

She didn’t answer him, just turned for the door. She opened it up. At the last second, she turned far enough for him to catch her profile. “…Just remember: they’re people, too. You guys tend to forget that.” Then she walked out through the door, and Bucky was left to sit there and wonder what the hell just happened.


	2. Intake Questionnaire

Symbiotic Solutions Intake Questionnaire

Name: _Steven Rogers_

Address: _116 Montague St. #14 B_

Birth date: _7/4/1992_

Physical Age: _26_

Chronological Age: _26_

Please answer the following questions to be considered for pairing services

1\. How did you hear about Symbiotic Solutions? 

_Google_

2\. Have you ever utilized a blood-pair agency before? If so, please describe your experience. 

_No_

3\. Why did your last donor relationship end?   
 I have never had a donor (proof of death no earlier than **9** / **30** / 2018 required) 

_Person didn't want to anymore_

4\. How soon will you require services?

 longer than one month (please specify)  1-4 weeks  less than a week  emergency services requested

5\. How long would you ideally like your next donor relationship to last?

 Lifelong  3+ years  1-2 years  several months  several weeks  several days  not sure

6\. Describe your typical feeding schedule: 

_I’ve been eating about once every two days_

 

7\. Will your ideal donor be providing supplementary or complete nutrition? 

_Complete_

 

8\. How frequently are you seeking to meet with your donor? (Daily, Weekly, On-call)

_Daily or every other day_

9\. What relationship dynamic would you like with your ideal donor? (professional, companionship, romantic)

_~~Romant~~ companionship_

10\. If seeking a live-in arrangement or on-call service, what accommodations are you prepared to offer your donor?

_Spare bedroom, rent-free_

11\. Please provide references from at least two previous donors, contracted or otherwise.

 I have never had a donor before (proof of death no earlier than **9** / **30** / 2018 required)

Last name/ first: _~~Sharon Cart~~ Carter, Sharon_  
Relationship to applicant: _Neighbor_  
Beginning/ending dates of donation: _10/6/18—10/10/18_  
Phone: _301-240-8595_  
Email: _n/a_

Last name/ first: _Brooklyn Memorial Hospital_  
Relationship to applicant: _healthcare provider_  
Beginning/ending dates of donation: _10/2/18—10/6/18_  
Phone: _718-780-3000_  
Email: _patientservices@bmh.org/brooklyn_

 

For Staff Use Only

Preferred Sample type(s): **h1-type, b-type, f10-type**

Sample(s) of interest: none


	3. 3

Observation Room:

“Okay, right through here.”

Darcy led Bucky through a set of doors and into a small room. There was a glass window that looked into another room—like a detective show, Bucky realized. Like an interrogation room. He was looking through a two-way mirror. Instead of a steel metal table and benches, it was styled like a living room. There were two comfy-looking armchairs, a man sitting on one of them. “I don’t understand,” Bucky mumbled. “Is that—”

“Yeah. He came in about an hour ago, requesting a donor. His name is,” Darcy looked down at her tablet. “Steven Rogers.”

Bucky blinked, feeling odd about the fact that he could see into the room when the other man— _vampire_ , he told himself—had no idea he was being watched. “I’m gonna go in there?” Bucky asked. “Are you gonna… watch us?”

“Sorry but yes. It’s standard procedure.”

Bucky felt dread well in his gut. “Do they ever attack people?” he asked.

Darcy frowned. “No. It’s the other way around, actually. We’ve had donors go off on recipients before.”

“Oh. Well I wouldn’t do that.”

“I don't think you would. But like I said: it’s procedure. Plus, I wanted to give you a chance to see him.” Darcy shrugged. “He’s a nice guy, as far as I can tell. Just, a lot of first-time donors get nervous, so I thought I’d bring you through here first, make sure you’re sure.”

Bucky nodded, feeling grateful. “Kay.” He spent a moment staring through the glass, taking in the sight of the other man. He was small— _slight_ , he supposed was the word. With blond hair and delicate features. He was pretty, but looked downright beat, as if he hadn’t slept in days. And he had a stern set to his face. Bucky thought that the guy looked really sad. “What’s his story?” Bucky asked.

“Sorry again,” Darcy said. “That’s for him to tell you. You can go in there and talk to him, see if this is something you really want to do.” She paused, then placed a tentative hand on his arm. Bucky looked down at her, surprised. “Um, don’t feel like you have to, okay?” she said. “I know you need money, but this is a really personal decision. Don’t let yourself feel forced. You’re allowed to walk right out if it doesn’t feel right, okay?”

Bucky swallowed and nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome.” She gestured to show him where the door was. “Right through there.”

“Okay.” Bucky went to the door, put his hand on the handle. At the last second he thought of something and looked back to Darcy. “Wait. If I do this… will there be scars?”

Darcy looked at him pityingly. “Yeah.” She pulled down on the collar of her shirt a little, and Bucky saw the pale marks there, all clustered in the same general spot. “Like I said; it’s a really personal decision.” Darcy let her collar slip back up. Almost subconsciously, Bucky’s hand slid up to his neck and rubbed. Darcy saw this. “Doesn’t have to be the neck,” she said. “You can discuss with him where on your body you want to be bitten.”

“Oh.” _Ew._

“But it’s not something you ever have to be ashamed of, you know.” 

Bucky thought of all the junkies he’d seen, littered with bite marks. How he’d judged them. He knew this was supposed to be different, but still… “Jeez,” was all he said.

“You worried about pain?”

Bucky’s eyes shot back up. “Well,” He _hadn’t_ been, but now that she mentioned it…“I guess so.” He imagined it—the pain of being bitten, and the thought made him wince.

“Don’t,” Darcy said. “It can feel good. You know?”

“Thought that was a myth,” he mumbled. Bucky had heard that, had heard junkies waxing poetic about being bitten, but he’d always written it off as bullshit. Because he couldn’t imagine how getting punctured through the neck could feel good. “How?”

“You’ll see.” Darcy nodded at the door that he still had his hand on. “Go on, introduce yourself. You don’t have to commit to anything unless you want to.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He pushed through the door.

-

“Hey, I’m James.”

“…Steve.”

Bucky thought that the guy seemed even smaller when they were standing in the same room. The lights were brighter in here, and from this distance Bucky could take in more of the other man’s appearance. “Hey, Steve,” he said, then walked over and took the armchair adjacent to Steve’s. “I uh, I guess they’re pairing us up, yeah?” Steve smiled, but it was clearly an effort. He looked exhausted. He had dark circles under his eyes and his posture was slumped. “You don’t look like you’re feeling too good,” Bucky hedged. “Should I… should I go tell the nurse or something?”

Steve huffed and shook his head. “No. No don’t. I’m fine. Just really tired.” Again, he made a show of giving Bucky a friendly smile. “Not usually up at these hours, you know?”

Bucky’s lips parted in understanding. “Oh.” Yeah, he thought. It couldn’t possibly later than three in the afternoon. “Um, so you’re okay?”

Steve nodded. “Yes. Sorry to make such a shitty first impression.” He chuckled then, almost as if at himself. “M’not doing a good job at selling myself, huh?”

Bucky blinked. Then he had to fight the urge to smile. This Steve guy was worried about impressing _him_.? That just showed how little Steve knew about Bucky’s situation. “I’ve always heard that vamps don’t have much choice in when they sleep,” he said. He fought off the urge to wince, when he realized he’d said _‘vamp’_ , but Steve didn’t seem to react to it. “Thought you guys kinda had to sleep when the sun was up.”

“We do.” Steve agreed. He yawned then, and it was a huge, wide thing, his sharp teeth obvious in the motion. He settled and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Ugh. This is all just sheer force of will,” he said, indicating himself. “Had to, if I was going to make this appointment.”

“Yeah.” Bucky chewed his lip, feeling bad for Steve. “Huh, you’d think pairing agencies would have like, night hours or something.” He hadn’t thought of that before… “For you guys.”

“Yeah,” Steve snipped. “You’d think, wouldn’t you?” He gave the room’s two-way mirror a pointed glare at that. “Guess that’d just make too much sense.”

Bucky couldn’t help it. The ridiculousness of the situation and Steve’s wry humor smacked him in the face all of a sudden. He busted out a laugh. Steve looked at him like he was a loon for a moment, but then he joined in the laughing too. “Sorry,” Bucky said, once he’d gotten control of himself. “I don’t know what made me do that.” He shook his head. “So, you need a donor…and…” Oh. Well that didn’t take any time at all. This was back to feeling like an awkward first date, and Bucky didn’t know what to say next.

“Yeah.” Steve shrugged, his tiny hands digging into the arms of the chair he was sitting in. “I do. I’ve only been… this way, for a little over a week.” He said ‘this way’ like it was something awkward or embarrassing, but that wasn’t the part that got Bucky’s eyes to snap up in surprise.

“A _week_?”

Steve winced. “A little over, but yeah.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that. He hadn’t imagined being paired with someone who had only been a vampire for a _week_. What did one even say to something like that. “I’m…sorry?” he tried, immediately regretting it. “I mean—”

“Thanks,” Steve said. He shrugged. “I was bound to die from something, eventually. But it’s the pneumonia that finally did me in.”

Bucky furrowed his brow, confused by that and about to ask what Steve meant, but Steve kept talking. “Not like anyone plans this, I guess, but I really got caught off guard. I uh, didn’t have anybody to fall back on for help once the hospital discharged me. Well, except for my neighbor Sharon. She’s helped for a couple of days.”

Bucky’s ears perked up at that. “Sharon?” he said. “The nurse who works here?”

The tops of Steve’s ears reddened and he smiled. “Yeah. You uh, you met her?”

Bucky repressed a snort. _Had he ever_. “Yeah.” _Your neighbor’s a pushy bitch_ , he thought but didn’t say. He supposed he knew now who the shovel talk had been for. Bucky looked Steve’s small form over again, thinking that he could see how a friend of Steve’s might feel overly-inclined to protect him. “You guys are friends?”

Steve shrugged. “We’re neighbors. But she’s been a lifesaver, literally. M’not sure what I would’ve done those first few days at home if I hadn’t had her to, you know, _feed_ off of.” He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “Hate that word.”

“Why?”

Steve huffed in annoyance. “Because it sounds like something an animal would do. I just want to eat. Don't want it to have to be such a production."

Bucky bit his lip, not knowing what to say to that. Strangely, he felt attracted to this Steve guy. He wasn’t at all what Bucky had been expecting when he’d made up his mind to donate himself at a fanger agency. He wasn’t some two hundred-year-old vampire named Damian, or anything like that. No, Steve was just a… just a regular guy, it seemed. He was small and tired and peeved at the situation that he found himself in. Bucky found that he could relate. “If I agreed to a contract with you,” Bucky said, not missing how Steve’s eyes widened. “What would that look like?”

Steve sat forward on his chair. “Well I… I’m amenable to most things, you know. I can make the arrangement work for you, however you need.” He sounded eager, like he hadn’t been expecting Bucky to like him. “I just… well I get hungry after forty hours or so. So I’d just need to see you once every two days, at the very least.” 

“At the very least,” Bucky repeated, feeling let down by that. “And… what about at the very most?”

Steve canted his head. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well the staff here said that some people, some people they like… live together?” Bucky glanced up, sure that he’d see rejection on Steve’s face. But he didn’t. Steve was actually smiling a little. “You… is that something you’d be able to do?”

“Are you kidding?” Steve asked, sounding happy. “Of course!” He huffed. “I was afraid of scaring people off. The guy who did my intake said I shouldn’t come off as too eager.”

Bucky felt a grin slip over his own features. “I guess I felt the same.”

Steve shook his head, smiling and now looking at Bucky more openly. His eyes, Bucky realized, were his best feature. “Okay, James,”

“—Bucky,” he interrupted. “My uh, people who know me, they call me Bucky.”

Steve nodded. “Bucky. So here’s how it is: I’ve got an apartment in Red Hook. Two bedrooms. I’ve been using the spare room for a studio, but I can clear that out if you want to use the room.” Steve blushed but pushed forward. “I don’t know what you’re comfortable with, but ideally I’d like to find someone who could live with me, maybe even be a friend. It’d be easier that way.” He shrugged. “But that’s a long-term goal, of course. Right now I’m just trying to survive. I don’t expect you to—”

“I’ll do it,” Bucky said, cutting in. 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Bucky smiled when Steve did, finding that he liked being the reason for the other man’s smile. “Yeah I uh, don’t even have to think about it,” he said. “You know, if it’s rent-free and all that.”

Steve was quick to nod. “Of course it is. Whatever you need. I’ve got a bed and stuff in there already, so it’s furnished. You’ll have access to the bathroom of course, and the building’s laundry. And I’ve got cable and internet and all that.” He beamed at Bucky, enthused. “Might have to do a grocery shop,” he joked, chuckling. “But other than that… You really don’t mind that kind of arrangement?”

Bucky fought hard to just give a shrug and a casual smile when he said, “Not at all,” when inside he was basically doing celebratory backflips. This was too freaking good to be true. “So,” he said, smoothing the palms of his hands over his thighs. “Have we like, settled on something?” 

Steve grinned, and his teeth showed in all their pointy glory. “Yeah! I think so. Let’s go find Darcy?”

Bucky gulped, but nodded and followed after Steve’s skinny body as he left the room.

-

On the way out, Bucky was asked to sign a waiver that released the clinic from responsibility. The terminology on the paper was extensive, fine print, and Bucky knew what it said without hardly having to read over it. _I agree to take full responsibility for my own murder/rape/imprisonment, should it occur_ , was the basic gist of it. 

You knew you were at a low point, he thought, when you went ahead and signed a waiver like that. 

_Oh well_ , he told himself as he picked up a pen. At least Steve seemed nice. And even more than that, he seemed downright normal. Attractive and smart and maybe just a little bit desperate for a friend and some security. Bucky could definitely relate to that. So yeah, he signed the waiver and slid it back across the desk towards Darcy, who mouthed a quiet _‘good luck!’_ at him. To which he nodded a smile back. Then he turned and followed Steve towards the door. He was pretty sure he’d be okay in this arrangement with Steve. He just had a good feeling about it.


	4. 4

166 Montague Street, Apt. 14B:

A van with blacked-out windows picked them up at the door, Steve rushing to get into the back seat without waiting for Bucky, who followed along behind. “It’s door to door service,” Steve told him as they settled in the back and the driver put the car into gear. “A ride-share.” 

Bucky set his backpack on the floor, noticing another person in the van—a woman. She gave an awkward nod to them, then minded her own business until the van stopped inside a parking garage and let her out. Bucky watched her go with a thoughtful expression. “A taxi service for the undead,” he said. “Huh. Makes sense I guess.” When he looked back to Steve, he could see that he looked uncomfortable. “What?”

Steve gave him a pained look. “Please don’t say that. ‘Undead’ and stuff.”

Bucky blanched, horrified. The van started moving again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I just… I’m not used to this yet.” Steve indicated himself. “Being different. I don’t like being reminded of how weird other people think I am. I haven’t even figured out how to tell my boss and coworkers.” He looked down, ashamed. “M’afraid they might fire me, if they find out.”

Bucky gulped. “I thought you worked remotely.”

“I do. Staff meeting’s coming up soon, though.” Steve looked uncomfortable as he admitted, “Not sure what I’ll do, then.”

“I thought it was illegal to discriminate based on… this,” Bucky hedged. “I went through basic with a guy who’s sister was one of those, you know, mutants. He always said it was illegal for anybody to—”

“It is,” Steve cut him off. His face was back to being stern. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”

Bucky swallowed and nodded. He could see that this wasn’t something Steve wanted to talk about. He scooted closer to him on the van’s bench and placed his hand out, palm up. Steve saw it for the offer it was, and after a moment’s hesitation, placed his hand in Bucky’s. Bucky closed his fingers around Steve’s, liking the feeling of how his small hand fit in his. “I know someone,” he said quietly. “A P.I. She’s the one who told me about the agency.”

“Oh?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Anyway, she knows a lot of lawyers. Good ones. If it ever came down to it, you could ask her. She could probably find you someone pro-bono.”

Steve huffed, but he didn’t reject the offer. “Hopefully I won’t ever need it. …But thanks.” His eyes were soft on Bucky’s as he nodded. “You’re a nice guy, I think.”

“You think?” Bucky joked. Steve’s hand was still in his, after all.

“Yeah.” The van slowed, and Bucky looked around. Steve nodded. “This is me. Well… us, I guess.” He smiled at Bucky. “Come on. We can talk more inside. I’m beat.”

Bucky nodded and followed after Steve as he slid the van’s door open and walked briskly towards the front of the apartment building they’d been dropped off in front of. Steve waved at the driver and used a key fob to open the building’s door, then hurried inside. Bucky didn’t miss seeing how the skin at the back of Steve’s neck looked very pink and irritated. “Hey,” he said, reaching to stop Steve once they were inside and had gone into the building’s stairwell. Steve stopped and turned, looking irritated. Bucky ignored the look and pulled Steve’s arm up. His eyes widened as he saw that the skin at his wrist was red and blistered. “Oh my god. Steve.” His eyes shot up to Steve’s in concern. “Is this from—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said. He pulled his arm back in discomfort and started walking again. Bucky followed behind as they made their way up to the third floor. Steve’s apartment was the first in the hallway, and he let them in and locked the door behind Bucky. Bucky wasn’t having it though.

“Steve, your skin,” he said. “It’s—”

“It’s fine,” Steve said. He gave Bucky a _look_ , then held up his wrist for Bucky to see again. “See? I’m fine. All better.”

Bucky stared. It was true; where only a moment ago he’d seen blisters, the skin was back to being smooth and unblemished. “Oh,” he breathed, feeling relief rush through him. “Sorry,” he said. “I just… I didn’t know.”

Steve shrugged and tossed his keys and wallet on the table by the door. “A little sun never killed anyone,” he mumbled. At Bucky’s incredulous look, he grinned slyly. “Well, a little never did, leastways.”

Bucky snorted, feeling more at ease from Steve’s casual handling of the explanation. Bucky had heard that vampires could heal rapidly, but it was still jarring to see such a painful-looking injury disappear like that. He had to stop himself from blurting out all the questions that he suddenly had. He remembered what Steve had said in the van, and he didn’t want to push his luck by making Steve feel like a spectacle. He kept his mouth shut, figuring he could google anything he wanted to know at the nearest public library. 

“You’d think pairing agencies would have night hours,” Bucky said, repeating his sentiments from before.

“You’d think a lot of places would,” Steve grumbled. He looked even more tired than before. “I need to sleep,” he said, looking blearily at Bucky. “M’gonna crash for now. Don’t rob me blind?” 

Bucky could tell from Steve’s expression that he was just joking, but it still stung. “Yeah,” he said, dropping his backpack from his shoulder and setting it on the floor. “Sure thing.” Steve smiled and yawned, nodding. 

“Kay.” He walked over to the living room’s couch and laid down. “Sorry, I just can’t even…” he said, voice going a little slurry as he closed his eyes. “I’ll give you… the tour… when I—” 

Bucky stared, wide eyed at how fast Steve faded out. His lips twitched and he snorted, feeling both amused and sorry for the guy. “Sure thing, Steve,” he said softly. Steve didn’t move at all. Bucky had a feeling he wouldn’t for a while. He sighed, looking around and realizing that he now had some time to kill. He set out to locate the bathroom.

-

Bucky couldn’t help himself. He snooped.

Steve’s apartment was nice, he decided. It was older and not very fancy. The drapes being drawn the way they were made it dark inside, but Bucky could tell that Steve made a good effort to keep it clean and homey. To Bucky, it felt like a palace. Steve had sketches and paintings all over the place, some hanging on the walls, some just tossed aside like trash. Bucky found himself picking up the few he found littered around, admiring them. Something fond flared in his heart, at seeing how Steve obviously sketched absentmindedly on the backs of napkins and old receipts. 

There were a few dozen books shoved on a bookshelf—books about architecture and art history, politics and a few novels. Bucky trailed his fingers over the spines, wondering if Steve would mind if he read them. His fingers brushed past a bunch of envelopes and papers, and Bucky paused. He pulled them out. It was mail, he realized, addressed to Steve from a hospital. Bucky unfolded one of the papers that’d been stuffed carelessly back inside an envelope. It was a letter informing Steve of his charges incurred at the hospital and listing several resources for him. Bucky noted that both the rideshare and the pairing agency were on the list. He scoffed at the outrageous total of the bill and found himself hoping that Steve had good insurance. 

Steve’s kitchen was small but well-stocked. Bucky figured Steve wouldn’t mind if he helped himself to some lunch, so he did. It was such a strange thing to fix himself food from a kitchen again, like a normal person. It made Bucky’s heart ache as he realized how much he’d been missing in the past two years. _God_ , but he wanted this thing with Steve to work out. He felt like a king, just pouring himself a freaking bowl of cereal. The milk was almost out of date, and Bucky remembered how Steve had said they’d need to grocery shop. Bucky’s lips twisted as he eyed all the half-rotted produce in the fridge. He wondered if vampires physically couldn’t eat regular food, then filed that away as a question to be googled later.

When he settled in the living room, he found he didn’t have much else to do besides stare at a sleeping Steve. He tried to see if it looked like Steve’s chest was moving with breath, but it didn’t seem so. He figured that’d be another google search. Bucky twisted his lips, realizing that if everybody Steve encountered had this many questions, then he could definitely see how Steve felt like a spectacle. It made Bucky feel bad for him. 

Steve was so little, Bucky thought as he let his eyes rake over him. He couldn’t have weighed more than a buck ten at most, so half of Bucky’s weight, basically. Bucky chewed his lip and thought about that, thought about how easy it’d be for him to pick Steve up and move him around…

He huffed and shook his head. “Fucking get it together, Barnes,” he mumbled. He couldn’t go entertaining thoughts like _that_ if he wanted this thing with Steve to last. Steve hadn’t said anything about this being sexual, so Bucky would just have to reign in any physical attraction he felt towards the other man. He’d just jerk off, was what he’d do. No reason to make it anything other than friendly, with Steve.

His eyes slid back over though. Steve’s face was so peaceful in sleep. The dark circles from before seemed to have disappeared, making him seem younger. Steve had pretty features. His nose was big for his face but Bucky found that he liked it. His blond eyelashes were long where they rested against his cheeks, and Bucky thought that his lips were really nice, especially for a guy…

_Ugh_. He shoved up from the chair, figuring he’d go jerk off in the bathroom while Steve was still asleep. He wasn’t sure how good of hearing vampires had, after all. 

-

Steve woke up just after seven o’clock. Bucky waved from his spot on the chair and the smile that Steve gave him was golden. “You hungry?” he asked.

“Sorta.” 

Steve ordered him Chinese food. He didn’t get any for himself. It would’ve been weird, chowing down in front of Steve when Bucky knew full well that _he_ was supposed to be Steve’s meal. But Steve kept it cool by giving Bucky the money to pay the delivery guy, saying he was going to grab a shower. Bucky did pay for the food, and he’d already loaded up a plate and sat down on the couch to eat, when Steve emerged from the bathroom. 

Bucky paused with the chopsticks halfway to his mouth. Steve’s skin was pinked up from his shower, his hair wet and messy and he was dressed in a t-shirt and soft-looking sweats. He looked so sweet, Bucky thought, then shook it away. He smiled in thanks as Steve came over and flopped onto the couch. “This is great,” he said, indicating his food.

Steve smiled. “Yeah. Hunan Wok. It’s right down the street. It’s my favorite…” He tensed, reconsidering his words. “Well, it was my favorite,” he amended.

Bucky felt bad for him. “Sorry,” he mumbled, feeling somehow guilty for how vigorously he’d been slurping down the lo mein. 

“It’s okay. I don’t crave it or anything.” Steve gave him a smile that said it was okay for him to continue enjoying his meal. Bucky did. “If you want to stock the fridge with stuff you like, you won’t have any competition,” he joked. He looked Bucky up and down. “So, do you have stuff you need to bring here?” 

Bucky blinked at him. “What?”

“Stuff from your place.” Steve shrugged. “I don’t have much room for furniture, but if you have stuff I’m sure we can fit it in the guest bedroom.”

Bucky blushed. “Oh.” He set his plate of food down on his lap as he figured that it was about time he fess up. “I uh, I actually don’t have… stuff.” He looked at Steve, could see that he didn’t understand, and nodded over at his backpack. “I just have my bag.”

It was painful to watch Steve stare as understanding dawned on him. “Oh. …You’re homeless?” he asked.

Bucky shrugged, feeling embarrassed. “I was. Hoping not to be, now.” 

“I see.” 

“Yeah. This is a real lifesaver, to be honest. If you let me stay.”

Steve smiled gently. “Kind of is for me, too,” he joked. “A guy’s gotta eat.”

“So… you don’t care?”

“Bucky, why would I care that you were homeless?” Steve asked. He reached out and put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “That shouldn’t matter.”

“It matters to a lot of people…”

“Well it _shouldn’t_ ,” Steve repeated sternly. “And if I can help, then I’m glad. After all, it’s not like you’re not helping me.” 

Bucky looked down at his plate, pushing the rice around and trying not to smile too obviously. “Yeah, I guess.”

Steve gave Bucky his space then, which Bucky appreciated, and turned the tv on to flick through the channels to find something to watch.

-

It was late, Bucky knew, though he was too lazy to check the time. He and Steve had been watching tv and chatting on and off for hours. But Steve had shut off the tv a while ago and offered to fix drinks if Bucky wanted. So that they could chat more, was the idea. Bucky didn’t necessarily mind, but… he felt like he’d spent so long barely speaking to anybody, and whenever he had, it’d been out of necessity; to negotiate a place to sleep or something to eat. He felt out of practice with conversation. So it definitely helped that Steve was a heavy hand when pouring drinks.

“You _are_ trying to get me drunk, aren’t you?” Bucky teased. Steve’s only answer was a snort from where he stood in the kitchen, pouring Bucky the second refill that he’d requested. 

Bucky didn’t actually think Steve was trying to ply him, or anything like that. He was just being nice, had told Bucky that his ma would’ve smacked him upside the head if he’d ever had a guest over in the evening and not offered either coffee or a drink. Steve didn’t have coffee in the apartment, but he did have vodka.

Bucky had definitely loosened up from the drinks, and he’d decided that he worried too much. Life wasn’t so bad. Steve certainly wasn’t. Steve was a good guy who had pretty eyes and could draw better than Bucky would ever be able to, and he was Bucky’s new roommate. Bucky grinned as he took the glass Steve brought him. “Thanks.”

Steve sat himself back down next to Bucky. “You’re welcome. Do I have to cut you off after this one?” he asked.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. Steve was sitting right by his side, and Bucky found that he had to fight not to lean closer. They’d been chatting for a long time, laughing even. Like they could be friends if they tried. Or maybe more. Steve had blushed when he’d told Bucky he’d been single for over a year, since his last _boyfriend_. 

“Oh. So you’re gay?” Bucky had said, because of course he had the verbal tact of a cow giving birth.

Steve had nodded, blushing. He was so _tiny_. Goddamn gorgeous too—those eyes, fuck. Bucky huffed and took another sip of his drink, running over all the things they’d talked about in the last two hours.

Steve was an artist. He’d died from pneumonia but had a well-enough sense of humor about it. He was alone, isolated since he came home from the hospital. He had no family, couldn’t go out during the day, and didn’t know what to tell his friends. He was hungry, alone and, most-likely, depressed.

He seemed sweet, like someone Bucky would’ve gone for back when he’d had a home and a life. At more than one point during their evening together, Bucky had had to quash the urge to just lean over and kiss him. He didn’t know if Steve was even _close_ to entertaining the idea of a physical relationship like that. He couldn’t go screwing up a good thing for himself by making passes at the first pretty vampire he’d ever—

—“So,” he said, cutting off his train of thought. “Aside from access to my neck three times a week, what sort of relationship are you looking for here?” It was bold, but he’d had enough liquor to be that way. “I saw the questionnaire they have you guys fill out. That was one of the questions.”

“Yeah.” Steve smiled. “Didn’t quite know what to put for that one.” He glanced over to Bucky, shy. “I dunno.”

Bucky chewed his lip. _Don’t screw this up don’t screw this up_. He scooted a little closer to Steve, let his hand slide over until it was covering Steve’s tiny one. Steve inhaled and his eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away. “Guess we don’t have to decide right now, huh?” Bucky said. “We can just… figure it out as we go.”

Steve smiled. On the couch, his hand flipped over and he took Bucky’s hand, grasp firm. “I’d like that,” he said. 

Bucky had to look away. He focused on his drink, on the clink of the ice cubes against the glass. “So um, you still haven’t explained how this happened.” At ‘this’, he gestured up and down at Steve. “Last I checked, pneumonia doesn’t result in vampirism.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Steve’s lips twisted. “But if you go into cardiac arrest and they can’t resuscitate you and you don’t have it written down in a living will or something, then any hospital with a resident vampire can do it.”

Bucky gulped, the liquor going down too fast and making him grimace. “Oh,” he said, finally seeing why Steve acted so put-upon by his being a vampire. He hadn’t consented to it. “I didn’t know that.”

“Neither did I,” Steve said. He looked over, face apologetic. “So what about you, huh? What else is there to know?” He settled further into the cushions, closer to Bucky. Their sides were close enough to touch, yet it didn’t feel wrong.

It was nice, Bucky realized. He hadn’t been so comfortable with another person in a long time. Steve’s kindness put him at ease. “I grew up in Brooklyn, like you,” he said. “I was in the army. Enlisted straight out of high school.”

“Did you go overseas?”

“Yeah.” Bucky frowned. “Did a tour. Eighteen months in Afghanistan.” 

Steve’s lips twisted and his hand found Bucky’s again. “Bad memories?” he asked. “I’m sorry.”

“No it’s okay.” Bucky huffed and looked over at Steve. “I have my bum arm now.” He shrugged his left shoulder to indicate it. “Can’t do much with it anymore. Came back with that, panic attacks and a bad attitude. Was discharged, lost every job I managed to get. Things went to shit pretty quickly.”

“You don’t have to tell me if—”

“Naw.” Bucky smiled a little. “It’s nice to have somebody to talk to. Haven’t been able to tell any of it to anybody in a long time.” He looked down, embarrassed. “I’ve uh, I’ve been very… alone. I guess. Lonely.”

Steve was quiet for a long minute. Then Bucky felt a touch to his chin—Steve’s hand lifting it up, making him meet his gaze. “Me too,” he said. His voice was quiet and soft, and his eyes were so damned understanding that Bucky could hardly stand it. Before he knew what he was doing, he was leaning in and connecting their lips, kissing Steve.

Steve froze, going completely still, and Bucky realized that he’d made a huge mistake. “Fuck,” he breathed as he pulled back. He looked fearfully at Steve. “I’m sorry. Steve I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve had too much to drink I—” Steve’s hand coming up to his mouth shut him up, his fingertips just barely resting on Bucky’s lips. Bucky had to fight the urge to lick out at them.

“It’s okay,” Steve said. He pulled his hand back. “I don’t mind. If you want to kiss me.”

“You don’t?”

Steve shrugged and bit his lip. For a minute he seemed to be thinking, and Bucky imagined he was trying to decide how inappropriate this might be. But in the end he smiled and said, “No, I don’t mind. I don’t really have a clue what I’m doing. I went to the agency because I had to, because Sharon’s real nice but she wasn’t willing to be a free meal forever.” He shrugged. “Now that you’re here, I don’t have to worry that I’m going to starve. And honestly? You’re a nice guy, Bucky. So I’m just hoping for the best.”

“Oh.” Bucky tried hard not to let it show on his face, how much he liked that. “Okay. So… if I ever try to kiss you again…”

Steve smiled. “I wouldn’t mind,” he said. “Hell, I might even like it.” 

Bucky hummed, embarrassed as all get out and very pleased at hearing that. “Okay,” he said, sipping from his drink again. “Good.”

“Good.”

-

“Sorry it’s not much,” Steve said, when he showed Bucky the second bedroom of his apartment. “Mine’s the main bedroom, I guess. This one’s pretty small. I’ll get all this stuff cleared out of the way tomorrow, give you more room.” He scuffed his socked foot against the floor, looking embarrassed. “Sorry it’s not…”

“It’s great,” Bucky said, meaning it. He set his backpack down by the room’s twin bed. “Steve: it’s clean, warm, furnished _and_ free. I couldn’t ask for more.”

“Well you could, but—”

“Shut up. It’s great. Thank you.”

Steve smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re welcome. Buck.”

Steve left him to put his stuff away, but they ran into each other later in the bathroom. Steve was brushing his teeth and Bucky raised an eyebrow at him in the mirror. “Can I—” he cut off, unsure. But then decided, _fuck it_. “Can I see?”

Steve looked at him quizzically in the mirror and Bucky grinned and made a fangy finger gesture by his mouth. Steve laughed. “Oh!” He spat out his toothpaste and turned around. “Sure.” He opened his mouth wide, as if he was at the dentist, and Bucky stared, fascinated. His fingers twitched by his sides as he wondered just how sharp they were. 

“Huh,” he said, and Steve closed his mouth. “How do you keep from biting off your own tongue?” he asked. 

Steve cracked up. “Oh my god I can’t believe you asked that!” 

"What?! It's a legitimate question."

Once he calmed down from laughing, he smiled fondly at Bucky. “I don’t keep from doing it. I’ve bitten myself a few times already. It just heals right away, like the sunburn”

Bucky winced. “Yikes.” 

“Hm yeah.” Steve stepped close and put one of his slim hands on Bucky’s chest. “Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For being here,” Steve said. “Ever since the hospital, I’ve felt like my life is falling apart. I didn’t want to go to that agency and get paired off with someone who’d look at me like a transaction, or a freak. I just haven’t known what the hell to do.”

“You’re just a person,” Bucky said, hating anybody who might have made Steve feel bad about himself in the short time he’d been this way. “Fuck anybody who would.”

“I like you already, Bucky.”

Bucky smiled. “Me too.” 

Steve pushed up onto his toes and planted a lightning-quick kiss on Bucky’s lips, which of course made him suck in a surprised breath. “Just paying you back,” Steve said with a wink. Then he turned to leave the bathroom. “Have a good night’s sleep,” he called back. “I’m going to be in my room, working. I’ll probably be asleep again when you get up, but I put some money on the kitchen counter if you need to go out and get anything. I’ll see you in the evening.”

Bucky blinked, watching Steve’s slim form walking down the hall towards the master bedroom. “Wait!” he blurted. Steve turned back around. “Aren’t you gonna… you know…” his hand flew to his neck, where he rubbed self-consciously. 

Steve grinned and shook his head. “It can wait. I’ll be plenty hungry tomorrow night.”

“Oh.” Bucky nodded stupidly. “Okay then. Goodnight?” 

“Good night, Bucky.”

Somehow, as Bucky fell asleep in bed that night, it didn’t really feel like he’d dodged a bullet. 

It felt like he’d found something good.


	5. 5

When Bucky woke up the next day, Steve wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Bucky thought about opening the door to his bedroom to check on him, but stopped with his hand on the doorknob, something holding him back from it. _No_ , he thought. That was Steve’s private space. He was sleeping, vulnerable. Bucky didn’t have the right to see him like that.

Steve had left five twenty-dollar bills on the kitchen counter. Bucky spotted them while he was looking for something to eat. He ate an overly-ripe banana he’d found in Steve’s kitchen and regarded the money. There was no note, but it was crisp cash; clearly fresh from the ATM and placed there for Bucky to use. It felt odd, taking it and leaving the apartment to go spend it, but Bucky assured himself that it was okay because he’d only get a few things; the bare minimum. He didn’t want to take advantage of Steve, after all. So far the guy was being kind to him and Bucky didn’t want to screw up a good thing.

There was a bodega on the very next block, so Bucky went there rather than search out a bigger store. The selection wasn’t the best, but Bucky wasn’t picky. He was able to grab some simple groceries and a few toiletries, as well as a four pack of men’s plain undershirts. He only wound up spending twenty-two dollars, which made him feel good. He didn’t want to waste Steve’s money.

He unpacked his backpack in the spare bedroom, lining up his few possessions along one wall. He took a shower and dressed in the same jeans and one of the new tee shirts. Then he sat in Steve’s living room and tried to watch tv while he waited for night to come, and Steve to wake up. It was a long wait, hard to get into any of the tv shows with all the stuff going through his mind, and Bucky couldn’t help but think that maybe it’d be better if he just started keeping the same hours as Steve. That way there wouldn’t be this near-unbearable waiting period every afternoon. He told himself he’d remember to bring that up with Steve, later.

Another episode of the home-improvement show that Bucky hadn’t been paying much attention to came to an end, and that was when he heard a noise from the direction of the bedrooms. Bucky muted the show and stood, walking down the hall. From just outside Steve’s door, he could hear him talking to someone. Bucky figured he was on the phone, and he listened.

_“God, you should see him, Nat. He’s built like a brick shithouse. He’s got this long brown hair and he’s so good looking. Really strong and broad and just, ugh. I can’t believe he just agreed to come home with me. I feel like I won some sort of freaking contest._

On the other side of the door, Bucky grinned. He hurried back to the living room and turned the television’s volume back on, not wanting Steve to know he was eavesdropping on him. Still, the happy thrill of knowing that Steve thought he was handsome lingered just under the surface. 

The bedroom door opened, Steve appearing from the hallway a moment later. He was still in his sleep clothes and his hair was mussed, sticking up in the back. He looked sleepy and soft, and it was endearing to say the least. Bucky couldn’t help but to smile at him right away. “Hey,” he said, reaching to turn off the television.

“Aw, no. You can keep watching.”

Bucky just shook his head. “No it’s alright. I wasn’t paying much attention. I was, um…” He blushed. “I was thinking about you for most of the afternoon. Waiting for you to wake up.”

Steve went over to join Bucky on the couch. “What were you thinking about?”

Bucky shrugged. “Dunno. Just, seeing you again. What we’re, um, going to do. Tonight.” He met Steve’s eyes. “Are you… are you um, hungry?”

Steve’s face settled into understanding. “Yeah, Buck,” he said. “Yeah I am. I’ll need to eat at some point tonight. Every two days, remember?”

“Oh. Right, yeah.” Bucky tried to put on a brave face. “Course.”

Perhaps Steve could see how awkward Bucky was feeling, how he didn’t know what to say or do with himself, because Steve scooted closer on the couch until their thighs were touching, and then he took hold of Bucky’s hand. “Are you nervous?” he asked.

Bucky bit his lip. He didn’t want to admit to it, but… “Yeah, a little I guess.” He looked down to where Steve was holding his hand. Steve’s hands were smaller than his, delicate and pale with long fingers. Artist’s hands. Bucky had the sudden urge to gather both of his hands in his, …or gather Steve into his arms entirely. He fought the feeling off. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Steve squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s scary and new.”

“Yeah.”

Steve reached up, turned Bucky’s head to make him meet his gaze. “I’d understand if you changed your mind,” he said, gentle.

“What?” Bucky’s eyes widened. “No! You’re hungry. You need to eat.” He shook his head, Steve’s hand on his jaw moving with it. “I can’t do that, Steve.” He paused, then firmed his resolve enough to say, “I don’t want to go. I want to stay here with you.”

Steve’s lips turned up in the barest of smiles. He seemed hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky knew he must be blushing as he admitted, “I like you, Steve. And I’m…” he sighed. “ _Shit_ , I’m really attracted to you.” He knew that he never would have had the courage to say it, if he hadn’t overheard Steve talking on the phone about him. He looked over Steve’s face, trying to gauge his reaction. “I hope that’s okay. I know we hardly know each other, but yesterday you mentioned you were gay, and you said… you said I could kiss you.” Bucky paused, doubting himself now that the words were out in the open. “Steve?” he asked. “Is that… okay?”

“What? Yes. Jeez, it’s more than okay. It’s just that…” Steve’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t want to—I mean I _don’t_ want to…” he sighed, trying again, “They made it pretty clear at the agency that we shouldn’t go into a contract expecting that kind of thing.” At Bucky’s raised eyebrow, he elaborated, “Intimacy. Or, well, sex.” He blushed. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to—”

“Steve?” Bucky said, cutting him off. “Shut up.” He leant down and kissed him, softly and briefly. When he pulled back and met his eyes again, he told him, “I don’t feel like I _have_ to do anything, okay?” He nodded, as much as to himself as to Steve and said. “I’ve been homeless. I was when I walked into that agency and I had been long before that. So I know how to make it on the streets, if I have to. I wouldn’t stay here with you if I really didn’t want to. I promise.”

Steve stared at him for a long few seconds—trying to make sure it was the truth, Bucky supposed. Finally, he nodded in acceptance. “Okay. Okay that’s good. I’m glad.” He let his hand slip back down to Bucky’s thigh, where he rubbed lightly. “I want you to feel at home here, you know. It’ll…” He looked down, embarrassed. “It’ll make me feel better, about what I have to do to you. It’ll help that I can pay you back.”

Bucky looked at him pityingly. He didn’t like hearing how Steve obviously thought of himself as a burden, or like he was a terrible thing Bucky had to endure. “Pretty sure the agency pays me too,” he joked. “S’not exactly a burden, being cooped up with a pretty vampire.” 

Steve’s eyes widened and then he smiled. It told Bucky that he wasn’t at all used to being complimented like that, and it made him glad he’d said it. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Fuck, Steve. Of course!” Bucky laughed and flopped into the back cushions of the couch, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve always gone for smaller guys, you know? And you’re real delicate. On top of that, you’re really sweet. And gorgeous.” At Steve’s continued look of embarrassment, Bucky sobered. He nodded knowingly at Steve. “But you don’t see it, do you?”

Steve shrugged. “Not really. I mean not like that.” He huffed, fidgeting. “I’m alright, but nobody’s ever called me gorgeous before.”

“Well you are,” Bucky said, tone firm. 

“Okay,” Steve said, sheepish and clearly not willing to argue the point. “I like you too, you know,” he said. “You’re um… handsome.”

Bucky smiled, getting some enjoyment out of Steve’s adorable awkwardness. “Thanks.”

It was quiet between them after that, neither one knowing what to say. Bucky eventually said, “I um, I took some of the money off the counter. I hope that was okay.”

Steve brightened. “Oh, yeah! That was for you.” He looked over to the kitchen and, seeing the few plastic shopping bags sitting on the counter, got up to go investigate. “What’d you get?”

Bucky was walking over and saying, “Just a few things. Some food and stuff. I hope that’s okay. I tried not to spend too much.” But Steve was pulling the things from the bags, and he looked almost… disappointed. Bucky bit his lip. “Um, I just—”

“This is all you got?” Steve asked. At Bucky’s nod, Steve’s frown deepened. “A few canned veggies? Bread and peanut butter?”

Bucky shrugged. “I mean I don’t need—”

“That’s ridiculous,” Steve said, voice sounding sharp. It made Bucky want to shrink back, but he didn’t. “Bucky, that money was so that you could feed yourself well, get the things you need.” Steve looked at him meaningfully. “And that was just, you know, for getting set up. I’d planned to give you more for things you need.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. “That’s okay,” he assured. “You don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

Steve peered into the bags again, poking around the few toiletry items he’d gotten. “No,” he said.

“Steve, _yes_.”

“Show me what all you had in your backpack, then,” Steve challenged. 

Bucky stiffened, suddenly defensive, or maybe embarrassed. He didn’t have a lot, after all. “I said I’m fine, Steve.”

Steve left the bags on the counter and stepped up to him. He placed his hands on Bucky’s arms imploringly. “Please,” he said. “Don’t do this. I get why, but please just let me take care of you. I told you: it’ll help my pride, if you let me.”

Bucky softened at that, his shoulders relaxing. “Okay,” he agreed softly. “If it’ll make you happy.”

Steve nodded. “It will.” He pulled Bucky back towards the couch and they sat, even closer together this time. Bucky held Steve against his side comfortably and Steve told him, “I’m going to give you some more money.”

“I didn’t spend it all, I still have—”

“I’m giving you a little more,” Steve insisted. “And you can go out and get things you need.’’ He gave Bucky a stern look. “Real stuff, Buck. Some decent clothes and groceries, things for around the apartment you need. A cellphone.” At Bucky’s squawk of protest over the phone, he quickly added, “Everybody needs a phone, Bucky. They have cheap models you can pick from, if you’re really worried about spending too much money. I’ll add you to my wireless plan. I’m pretty sure I get another line for free anyway. Okay?”

It took a moment, but Bucky nodded. “Okay.” Steve seemed satisfied by that, and Bucky felt his stubbornness about the issue melt away. “Steve? Thank you.” The smile Steve gave him was perfect. It lit his face up, reminding Bucky how beautiful he was. Bucky resolved to always try and make Steve smile, if he could.

“You’re welcome, Bucky,” Steve said quietly. Then he leaned in and kissed him. This time though, he drew it out, pressing their lips together in a real kiss. It was only when Steve dared to let his tongue delve once into Bucky’s mouth, that they parted. Steve’s darkened eyes met Bucky’s. And then they both laughed. “Fuck,” Steve said, smiling. “Fuck, this is crazy.”

“Maybe,” Bucky agreed, humming. “But it’s not bad.”

“No. No it’s definitely not.” 

Steve was looking at Bucky fondly, happily. Being under such a look had Bucky’s stomach swirling in a way it hadn’t in years. Being wanted, he realized, was something he’d missed terribly. “So how do we do this?” Bucky asked, feeling brave. “They said at the clinic that it can, um, feel good. But I don’t exactly see how that’d work.”

Steve blinked. “Oh!” He nodded, realizing what Bucky was about. “Yeah. Yeah it’ll feel good for you. I mean,” he winced in apology at Bucky, “It’ll hurt when I bite—probably just as much as you’re imagining—but right after that, when I’m actually drinking from you?” Steve nodded encouragingly. “Yeah it’ll feel really good to you then.” He smirked up at Bucky, telling him, “I’ve actually heard that some people get really aroused by it.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Mmhm.” Steve stood up from the couch, but pushed Bucky back into place when he tried to do the same. “No,” he said softly, raising one leg and then the other to kneel over Bucky’s lap. He sat down, making himself comfortable there, Bucky’s hands instantly finding his hips. Steve smiled at him once he was settled. “There. Like this. Is this okay?”

Bucky’s heart was beating faster, with Steve suddenly in his lap the way he was. He nodded dumbly at Steve’s question. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah. S’good.”

Steve smiled. “Okay. Good.” He put his hand on Bucky’s neck, rubbing softly over the tendons there. “Do you want me to bite you here?” he asked.

Bucky swallowed. “Um,” He remembered how Darcy had told him there were multiple places he could choose. “What’re my options?” he asked, trying to keep the nervousness from his voice.

Steve smiled comfortingly. “Your neck, inner thigh”—Bucky blushed massively at that—“Your inner elbow works too, but it’ll take longer,” Steve said. He leant in and placed his lips to Bucky’s neck in a kiss. “I’d prefer to do it this way,” he whispered. “If you don’t mind. It’s how they showed me to do it when I was in the hospital. It’s… kind of the only way I know how.”

Bucky’s heart clenched at how vulnerable Steve sounded when he said that. Again, Bucky was reminded that however new he was to all of this, _Steve_ was new to it, too. Bucky tilted his head to give him better access. “Yeah,” he said quietly, hands going to Steve’s waist. “Yeah that’s fine.”

Steve made a noise of approval, pressing against his body more. He began licking and sucking against his neck, bringing blood to the surface and making Bucky moan. He smiled against his skin, asking, “Feel good?”

Bucky nodded. The feeling of Steve sucking on him, his small body seated firmly in his lap; it made Bucky’s stomach muscles clench, had his dick twitching in his jeans. “S’good,” he said, voice coming out more breathily that intended.

“Good,” Steve hummed. “I don’t want you to be scared. I want you to feel relaxed.” His hands were on Bucky’s shoulders then, massaging. He pulled back to look at him and said, “I want you to feel good.” Steve kissed him square on the mouth, then. 

Bucky groaned at the feeling of it, lips instantly parting for him, heat swirling through his belly when Steve’s tongue swiped out. Bucky panted, “Fuck, Steve.” His dick was firming up and he squirmed in place, sure that Steve could feel it. “You’re gonna make me hard,” he admitted, embarrassed.

But Steve only smiled as if that was exactly what he wanted. “Good,” he said, kissing him again. “I told you I wanted you to feel good.”

Bucky nodded. He took reassurance from the way Steve was kissing him, the way he was running his hands over his shoulders and chest. Steve wanted him, Bucky forced himself to remember. He didn’t have to be embarrassed for liking this. He let his hips roll up, seeking friction, and was rewarded by the sight of Steve’s face going pinched with arousal. 

“Oh,” he breathed, and then he thrusted down in response, their clothed cocks rubbing together deliciously. Bucky was thrilled to feel that Steve was aroused, too. “Bucky,” he said, putting his face against Bucky’s neck and licking, breath warm against the skin. “ _Bucky_ , Bucky I’m going to, okay?”

Bucky could hear the need in his voice, the hunger, and far from scaring him, the thought that he had something that Steve wanted, that he was _craving_ , made the arousal in his blood thrum even harder. “Yeah,” he croaked, tipping his head for Steve. He let his hands slip up his back, feeling how small he was against him. “Yeah Steve, go on. I’m ready. Take what you need.”

Steve groaned like Bucky had given him permission to come, and opened his mouth, and bit down.

Bucky’s breath stuttered out of him. The hands he had on Steve’s body clenched, his fingers digging in bruisingly. He cried out, shouting in pain. His body jerked on instinct, trying to escape the feeling, but Steve’s arms shot around him and pushed, holding him still against the couch. Bucky whimpered at the display of strength that Steve possessed. It was unexpected, _inhuman_. It scared Bucky. 

But it also made his cock throb harder.

Steve’s one hand moved to cradle the back of Bucky’s head, petting him there as if in apology for the pain.

Bucky let his eyes slip closed. He was panting now, the pain edging away faster than he would’ve thought possible. Steve had _bitten_ him, and the pain had been searing. But now, _oh_ , now there was something else. Steve was sucking on his neck, drawing the blood out with firm pulls. Bucky groaned as a warm, tingly feeling overtook him, starting at the place where Steve was latched onto him and spreading outwards from there. His skin erupted in goosebumps and he panted, hips thrusting up against Steve on instinct. He felt like he’d taken a hit of something, he realized. Something good. 

And the feeling only grew.

Steve hummed in approval when he noticed how much Bucky was enjoying it. He encouraged him by grinding back down into Bucky’s lap, rubbing them together and squeezing Bucky’s arms punishingly. Bucky just kept whimpering and moaning beneath him, crying out from the jolts of pleasure that came in waves. “Oh fuck Steve, Steve. Fuck that’s good. How—” He slammed his eyes shut, feeling overwhelmed. _He could come like this_ , he thought, shocking himself with how true it was. Steve could keep sucking on his neck and Bucky could get himself off just by dry humping him. He groaned at the thought.

Eventually, Steve pulled back. He coaxed Bucky to open his eyes and meet his gaze. “Come on Buck, look at me baby.”

Bucky’s eyes fluttered open, Steve’s voice and the gentle stroking of his hands bringing him back from the edge of the floaty place he’d been in. He blinked at him, feeling light and disoriented. “Hey,” he said.

Steve smiled. “Hey. Feeling good?”

Bucky hummed, sure that he had a stupidly dazed expression on his face. He didn’t care. “Yeah,” he said dreamily. “Feel like I’m high.”

Steve laughed, leaning in to peck him lightly on the lips. “That’s because you are, baby.”

Bucky grinned. “M’not a baby.”

“Mmhm.” Steve bent back down to lick a swipe over the bite mark he’d created, eliciting a hiss from Bucky. “Yeah,” Steve said. “I know it hurts.”

“Stings.”

Steve kissed him again apologetically. “How do you feel otherwise?”

Bucky blinked, trying to focus. “Am I high?” 

“Yeah. Yeah that's the effect you get. You’ll feel like this whenever I drink from you.”

Bucky frowned, trying to work that out in his head. “I don’t understand,” he complained. Looking plaintively at Steve he asked, “How's it feel so good?”

Steve shrugged. “I dunno. Endorphins or something. I haven't really researched it.” At Bucky’s confused but still blissed-out expression, Steve groaned and pressed himself forward, rubbing their bodies together from chest to where he sat perched on Bucky’s lap. “God,” he groaned. “Look at you.” His hands landed on Bucky’s chest, palms resting just over his pecs, and his eyes were roving up and down him in a dark sort of appreciation. “Your body, _god_. I just want to climb you like a tree.”

Bucky barked out a laugh before he knew what he was doing. Steve chided him with a kiss on the mouth though, and then they were just making out, groaning into each other’s mouths and fumbling their hands all over each other. Steve pawed all over Bucky’s arms and chest and Bucky dug his fingers in harshly at Steve’s hips, and they rocked their clothed erections together until it became near-painful.

Bucky pulled back from their kiss, panting and telling Steve, “Wait, wait. M’gonna come if we don’t stop.”

Steve groaned like stopping was the last thing he wanted to do, but he did pull back. His eyes met Bucky’s, and damn if he didn’t look flushed and turned on and perfect. Bucky wanted to fuck him so bad it hurt. “Yeah,” Steve said, maneuvering to get off Bucky’s lap. “Yeah we should stop.”

Bucky gaped. “What? No! I mean, I wasn’t saying stop. Just…” he blushed, looking between the two of them and their tented jeans. “I thought we could get undressed, do more.”

Steve was kneeling on the couch next to Bucky now, facing him. He softened, looking fondly at Bucky. “Oh?” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear. “And what would you want to do, hm?”

He sounded almost teasing, which made Bucky feel shy to admit, “I want to make you feel good, Steve. I want you to suck me off. Want to suck you off, fuck you. Wanna make you come.”

Steve leant in and kissed Bucky, this time lingering with their lips just barely touching, his breath hitting Bucky’s chin. “That sounds wonderful,” he told him. “I want to do all of that with you, you know?”

Bucky smiled, encouraged. “Good.” He moved to pull Steve back into his lap, but was surprised when Steve pushed his arms down. Again, the strength that Steve had to him was shocking. It made Bucky open his eyes. “Steve?”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Steve said. “I do want to, I promise. But not yet. Not like this.”

Bucky whined. “What?! Why not?” He squirmed uncomfortably. “ _Steeve_ , I’m so hard. Please. You have to.” He wasn’t arguing very well, and he attributed that to the still-drugged feeling in his head, in his body. “Please,” he begged. “Steve, please.”

“Shh.” Steve petted his hair, calming him. “I know big guy. I know.” 

Bucky whimpered, because Steve _didn’t_ know. He was just being a tease, sitting in Bucky’s lap all pale and delicate and tempting, and then _grinding_ against him, biting him and holding him down with just his pinkie finger and making Bucky’s blood thrum harder than ever. Steve had no idea what Bucky was feeling, he was sure of it. “Please,” he said again, prepared to beg forever, if that’s what it took. Bucky was aching. He felt drunker than the nights where he’d warmed himself with vodka, higher than he did after a syringe of heroin. Blearily, he realized that maybe he’d found his drug of choice. Maybe it was just Steve. 

“C’mere,” Steve said, standing and pulling Bucky up from the couch. He took his hand in his and led him back towards the bedrooms. But when Steve got to his bedroom he blocked the door, making it clear that Bucky wasn’t to come in after him. Seeing Bucky’s lips parted in immediate protest, Steve shushed him, placing a quieting palm on his chest. “I don’t think it was a mistake,” he reassured. “I want to be with you, I swear I do. But I don’t want you to feel beholden to me, Buck. I don’t want it to even be a possibility. Never.”

Bucky shook his head, trying to clear the arousal and cloudiness that felt like cotton in his ears. “What?” he said. “No, m’not. I want you.”

Steve stopped him again, which was infuriating. “I know,” he said. “I believe you. But this is what I need Buck, to feel right about it.”

“What?”

“I want to wait until you have a little saved up from the agency, alright?” Steve looked at him seriously. “Just give it a little time. Once you have the security of a paycheck—”

“Seriously?” Bucky whined.

“Yes, seriously.” Steve’s voice left little room for argument. He’d straightened his small body, firm. “I want this for you, Bucky. Get that independence for yourself before you try and hand everything over to me, okay? Then we can enjoy each other.”

Bucky wanted to refuse, to cry and beg and whine for sex, he was so turned on. But he tried hard to focus on Steve’s words, on the importance of what he was saying. Steve wanted him to feel safe, Bucky realized. He wanted him to have something to fall back on, should things between them unravel. Bucky inhaled deeply, trying desperately to calm himself. “You promise?” he asked finally.

Steve smiled. He nodded. “Yeah Buck. I promise. I look forward to it.” He stepped closer to Bucky and pulled his head down for a kiss. This one was firm and demanding—Steve’s mouth taking his, opening with a swipe of his tongue and leaving a promise inside. He pulled back and gave Bucky a push towards his own room. “Go on,” he said. “Think of me while you take care of that, yeah?” he said, nodding at Bucky’s erection.

Bucky groaned. “Fuck, Steve.”

“And I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Bucky watched as Steve stepped back into his room and closed the door. Bucky went into his own bedroom and did the same, thunking his head back against the wood of the door once it was closed. He exhaled shakily. “Fuck.” The feeling was still there, he realized. Not as potent as when Steve had been actively feeding from him, but still very strong, and very much like a drug. Bucky was reminded of the heroin Brock had given him, of the pills the VA docs had prescribed right after the accident with his arm. Those paled in comparison to this. 

The pleasure of arousal thrummed hot under Bucky’s skin, his body full of heightened sensations. It felt… euphoric. Bucky sighed and reveled in the sensation. _God_ , but he had wanted to fuck Steve. To just get him naked and speared on his cock, riding him. …maybe with one of Steve’s tiny, impossibly strong hands pressed to his throat, holding him down and controlling even how much breath he took.

Bucky groaned at that image. “Fuck.” His eyes slid down his own body, to the front of his jeans where his erection was still pressing against the material of his jeans. It was tight and uncomfortable, and Bucky still buzzed with the intoxication of Steve’s bite, with the arousal that it’d stirred up inside him. He needed relief. Huffing, he yanked his shirt off, then he reached to open his fly and shove his underwear down. His cock sprang free, hard and hot against his hand. Bucky squeezed himself roughly, hissing at the sensation. He gave himself a few cursory strokes, spreading the precome that’d gathered at the head down his shaft, getting his dick even harder. He cupped his balls with his other hand, rolling and tugging them lightly as his right hand settled into the loose fist that he preferred for times like these. He worked himself in practiced motions, jerking off hastily as he thought about how good it felt, how hot and tight and… and…

How powerful Steve had been in his lap, holding him down and taking what he wanted from his body. How he’d groaned when the blood hit his tongue, how he’d sucked and sucked to drink him in, how he’d gotten hard from it and rutted down against Bucky. ...How Bucky had been able to taste himself in Steve's mouth when he kissed him. 

Bucky hissed and shifted his grip, using a knuckle to bump just underneath the head on each stroke. He grunted, feeling his balls draw up closer to his body. “Fuck, Steve,” he whimpered, trying to be quiet because some tiny sliver of his mind was able to remember that Steve was in the room just across the hallway. The hand on his balls moved to press against his perineum, jabbing the tips of his fingers in as hard as he could, until he saw stars. “Oh, _fuck_.” It came out in the tightest, most desperate little whimper, but Bucky didn’t even notice because he was _there_. He was high on Steve and his neck was throbbing in pain and his dick from pleasure and it was all too much and so good all at the same time. 

He couldn’t handle it. His fist spasmed, out of his control, and he started to come. Thick, white ropes of it bubbled over his fist and coated the back of his hand, his belly. Bucky sobbed as he came, the sob turning into a wrecked laugh at the end. “Oh, oh,” he breathed, slumping to the floor. “Shiiit.” He let go of himself, wiping his absolutely filthy hand onto his discarded tee-shirt. _Oh, that was so much better_ , he thought. He still felt that high, that euphoric pleasure sensation from the bite, but the sexual need was gone now, sated. Bucky sighed and eyed where the little twin bed was, only feet away. He had to will himself to get up and out of his dirty clothes, tossing them into the corner for washing later, and collapsing against the cool sheets. He just barely had the wherewithal to pull a blanket on top of himself, before he was out like a light. 

All of his dreams that night were, of course, about Steve.


	6. 6

The next day Bucky made a concerted effort to sleep in as long as possible. When he blinked his eyes open in the afternoon, he remembered the night before and inhaled sharply. His hand shot up to feel at the side of his neck. He hissed when he felt it. The bite wound was still there, of course. Bucky ran the tips of his fingers over it lightly, thinking about Steve-small and in his lap, mouth at his neck, Bucky’s hands wrapped around him and holding him close. 

Bucky sighed at the memory, smiling stupidly. “Get it together, Barnes,” he murmured at himself, then swung his legs to get out of bed. 

There was an additional hundred dollars of cash on the counter, along with two keys and a note. 

_Bucky_ , it said, and Steve’s handwriting was neat and loopy, Bucky noted. _Remember what you promised me. This is for you; use it. Also, here’s a key fob for the building and our unit, and a mailbox key._

Bucky tentatively took the keys off the counter, feeling happy at the thought that Steve had referred to the apartment as _‘our’_ unit. _He lived here_ , Bucky thought. He lived with Steve and he had a key to the mailbox. His fingers curled tighter around the keys as he relished the thought. 

The cash was more than he needed, but Bucky pocketed it anyway because he knew Steve would be hurt if he didn’t. To make good on his word, he headed out to do some shopping for himself. He got groceries from an actual grocery store this time, and stopped at a Target to get clothes. It was basic stuff, but he did get himself enough clothes to last a week before laundry. There was money left over even after he went to purchase a phone, but Bucky headed home, pretty sure that Steve would be satisfied with what he’d spent.

He got the mail on his way up to the apartment. There was a letter for him from the pairing agency, and a check too. Bucky’s eyes widened as he saw the amount on it. Wow. Four hundred dollars. It was a bi-weekly payment, and more money than Bucky had seen in a long time. Self-consciously, his hand floated to his neck. Four hundred for letting Steve feed from him every other day? He did the math, knew that that figured out to roughly sixty dollars a bite—sixty dollars a _meal_ , for Steve. Bucky gulped, feeling bad for him again. Poor guy. It wasn’t his only expense, after all. Bucky set aside the other pieces of mail that were from Brooklyn Memorial Hopsital (they looked like more bills). 

He fixed himself a late lunch and laid down on the couch after that, trying to kill time with a nap that he wasn’t tired enough for. Eventually he dozed off, and once he woke was disappointed to see that it was only four o’clock. Steve still wasn’t up, so Bucky made up his mind that he’d work out. He went to his room to grab the shorts and tee-shirt that he’d purchased. _He owned workout clothes now_ , he thought with a grin. 

Bucky was in the middle of a set of pushups when Steve appeared. He didn’t notice him right away. Sweat was in his eyes and he was grunting from the effort, but startled when Steve cleared his throat. “Shit!” 

Steve laughed, walking over. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Just surprised me is all.” Bucky got up from the floor, pushing his hair out of his eyes. He noticed the look Steve was giving him, then. The smaller man was biting his lip, eyes roving up and down Bucky’s body appreciatively. “You hungry, or you just like what you see?” Bucky joked. 

Steve’s eyes shot up. “Oh!” He chuckled, blushing. “Yeah, just… you look good.”

Bucky snorted. “I’m disgusting. All sweaty.” He took a step towards the hallway. “I’ll grab a shower.”

Steve’s arm shot out and grabbed his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. Bucky had to come to a dead halt at the force of his grip, and he felt his stomach swirl at the incredible strength of him. His eyes slid over to Steve. “Fuck, you’re strong.”

Steve’s features shuttered and he pulled his hand back. “Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No. I like it.” Bucky moved close, standing right in front of Steve. He drew him in by the waist, pulling him against his body. “It turns me on,” he said. He got to watch Steve’s eyes darken in arousal at that. 

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm.” Bucky bent down and pressed his lips to Steve’s, giving him a slow, meaningful kiss. When he pulled back just an inch, he asked, “Do you get off on it? Being stronger than me?”

Steve groaned. “Fuck. Yes.” He reached up and cupped the back of Bucky’s head, tangled his hand in his hair, and pulled hard enough to get him tipping his head back and exposing his throat. “I was never very strong, before,” he said. “But I bet you could’ve guessed that.”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathed. Fuck, he was getting turned on again. Just from a little manhandling from Steve. “Steve,” he said, “I’ve got to shower.”

“Just one thing,” Steve said. He grabbed Bucky’s shoulders and pulled him in, putting his mouth over where he’d bitten the night before. Bucky inhaled sharply, thinking for a moment that Steve was going to bite him again. But he didn’t. Instead, he licked a large, wet stripe over the wound. He pulled back and saw Bucky’s befuddled expression and smiled. “It’ll make you heal faster,” he said.

“ _Licking_ me?” Bucky asked.

Steve grinned. “Well, licking you on your neck will, yeah.”

Bucky groaned. “Fuck Steve, you can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Sure I can.” Steve stepped back and nodded towards the hallway. “Go on and shower. You’re all sweaty.”

“You gonna join me?” Bucky challenged. “I got a paycheck in the mail today.”

Steve’s eyes widened, surprised for a second, before he collected himself. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.” Bucky didn’t have to remind Steve of his condition for sleeping together. It was obvious he remembered. “Steve?”

“Get your shower.” Steve swallowed. “I’ll be out here, waiting.”

Bucky flushed, and hurried to go do just that.

-

By the time he’d dressed in lounge clothes and come back out, Steve was on the couch with a sketchbook in hand. Bucky walked over, curious. “Can I see?” He sat down next to Steve.

“Sure.” Steve tilted the sketchbook, revealing the drawing. 

Bucky inhaled. “It’s me.”

“Yeah.” Steve’s lips twitched. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Bucky shook his head. “No. I’m just surprised, is all.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Steve said, already going back to sketching. “You’re gorgeous. Knew I had to draw you, after last night.” The picture was of Bucky’s face and shoulders only. He was in quarter profile, looking out from the page. 

“You’re really good,” Bucky said, watching him draw. “I mean you just met me and you don’t even have a reference photo. That really looks like me.”

“That’s the point.”

Bucky huffed. “Yeah I know. I’m just saying.” He stood, going to the kitchen to look around for a snack. “You work as an artist, right?” His eyes caught sight of the small bar cart Steve had. “Can I make a drink?”

“Yeah go ahead,” Steve said. “You don’t have to ask.”

Bucky had to bite his lip to keep from arguing that. He reached for a tumbler and poured himself a drink, grabbing ice cubes from the freezer and adding them. When he sunk back into the couch, he nudged Steve’s socked foot with his bare one, prompting, “Well?”

“What?”

“Your job; tell me about it.” Bucky wanted to know all about Steve, if he’d let him.

Steve shrugged. “I work for a firm that other companies hire for advertising and custom art. I do illustrations for things.”

“Like books?” 

Steve smiled and looked over, seeming pleased at Bucky’s interest. “No Buck, not books. A book cover once in a blue moon, but more like web page illustrations, posters. Private commissions from uber wealthy people. That kind of stuff.”

“That’s neat.” 

“Yeah I like it.”

“Did you go to school for this?” Bucky asked, gesturing at Steve’s sketch. 

“Mmhm.” Steve’s attention was back on his notepad. He was shading in the details of Bucky’s eyes. Bucky stared, transfixed. 

“Wow. I wish I was that good at something.”

Steve paused at that. “You must have a talent,” he said. “Everybody’s good at something.”

Bucky scoffed. “Well I never went to college.”

“…You said you were in the army, though.”

“Hm, yeah.” Bucky remembered his drink. He took a sip of it. “I was special forces. Not exactly the sort of skills that’ll get you work in the real world.”

Steve seemed interested, if the fact that he closed his sketchbook and set it aside was any indication. He pulled his legs up onto the couch and hugged his knees, looking thoughtful. “Did you like, kill people?”

Bucky nearly choked on his next sip of alcohol. He came away laughing. “Jesus, Steve! Nobody ever asks that question.” Steve shrugged, as if to say: _I do_. Bucky liked that-the not caring, the not being phased by Bucky's past. “Yeah,” he said. “I did. I was a sniper.”

Steve’s eyes got wide. “Wow.”

“But after my arm was ruined, I was out. Honorable discharge.” His lips twisted as he remembered it; being told he’d never shoot a rifle again. “I never had time to learn another skill. Once I got back, I only qualified for minimum wage jobs. But I was angry and depressed, had PTSD.” Bucky looked up at Steve, at his kind, intent eyes, and told him, “I still do. I have panic attacks, if the right moment strikes. And I have nightmares a lot.”

Steve moved over to sit against Bucky’s side. Bucky’s arm went around him with hardly any thought. “I’m sorry,” Steve told him. “That sounds really hard. You don’t have anyone? Family?”

Bucky shook his head. “My parents passed when I was in basic. I’ve got a sister, Becca, but she lives in France with her husband.” He looked down at his lap, admitting, “She doesn’t know what’s been going on with me. I didn’t wanted her to know how low I’d sunk.”

Steve made a noise of protest. “There’s no shame in being down on your luck, Bucky.”

Bucky’s eyes slid over to Steve. “There is in prostituting yourself.” He had to tell Steve, had to let him know what he was getting into.

Steve, for his part, looked only mildly taken-aback. “Oh,” he said. “You… did that?”

Bucky felt dirty, he tried to pull away from Steve, but Steve held onto him with that immovable grip. “Yeah,” Bucky said with a huff, settling back into place and into Steve’s scrutiny. “I did. It’s not such a bad option, when you’re desperate.”

Steve was quiet for a long moment, and just when Bucky was imagining that Steve was about to tell him how horribly disgusting he was, he said, “I get that.”

Bucky’s eyes shot up. “You… you do?”

“Yeah.” Steve looked at him tenderly. “I’m glad you told me. It makes me even more glad, that I found you. I’m glad I can help, you know?”

Bucky gulped. “Yeah. About that.” He brought the glass up for another swig, then looked Steve in the eye. “I was thinking I might look for a part time job.”

Steve blinked. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I make a little money from the agency—with a free room and the money you’re giving me it’s more than enough. But I thought it’d be good to have something to do. I can save up.” Bucky looked at Steve sternly. “And I can start paying you something for rent.”

Steve went stiff. “Bucky—”

“Even if it’s just a little bit. Please Steve, it’s important to me.” Bucky squeezed his arm around him. “You said it’s important for you to help me out, for your pride. Well I need this for my pride. I need to know I’m paying my own way. I don’t want to be a charity case.”

Steve squawked. “You’re not!”

“Than agree to let me pay rent,” Bucky challenged. 

“Ugh, fine. I guess. How about this: if you find a job, then you can pay rent.” At Bucky’s grin, he pointed warningly to him. “And no more than like, three hundred a month.”

“Steve, this is a fucking two bedroom in Park Slope. You think I don’t know what that costs?”

Steve just crossed his arms, stubborn. “Take it or leave it.”

Bucky growled. “Fine.”

“Good.” Steve uncrossed his arms and leaned into Bucky. “Thank you.”

“…You’re welcome.”

“So how’re feeling, after last night?” Steve asked. His voice was quieter now, more cautious. Bucky could feel his gaze on his neck, on where he’d bitten.

“I’m fine,” he said. 

“It’s almost healed,” Steve commented. “They told me my um, my saliva could do that. I wasn’t sure how well it’d work, but I’m glad because I’ll have to…” he winced, “ _feed_ , again. Tomorrow.”

Bucky bit his lip, sensing Steve’s discomfort. “You know, I don’t care if you want to say, like, ‘eat’ or something.” 

Steve smiled at him, looking grateful. “Thanks.”

“Yeah and,” Bucky squirmed. “I really liked it. It felt amazing. Even the pain was… well yeah the pain was bad but it felt so good, after.” Bucky blushed. “I got so turned on.”

“I know,” Steve said lowly. “I listened to you jerk off in your room last night.”

“Oh my god!” Bucky wanted to bury his face in his hands, but he was holding the glass still, so he took a big swig of it instead. “You could hear me?” he asked.

Steve hummed. “Yeah, I have really good hearing. Used to be half-deaf in my left ear but I can pick up whispers now.”

“And you listened the whole time?” Bucky felt like his face was on fire. He’d been so god-damned high from the bite, he hadn’t stopped to think properly, about what noises he must’ve been making. “Fuck.”

“No, Bucky.” Steve turned further into him and slid a hand onto his thigh, squeezing. “It was so hot. You sounded amazing. I touched myself and listened. Got off so hard, too.”

Bucky groaned. All the blood in his body was either in his face, or rapidly making its way to his cock. He had to fight not to reach down and rearrange himself in his pants. “You’re the one who said we couldn’t,” he grumped.

“Yeah, I know.” Steve sounded apologetic. “But you get why, don’t you?”

Bucky shrugged. “I guess.”

“ _Bucky_.” Steve sounded serious. “It was because I never wanted you to wind up in the position where you felt like you had to keep having sex with me, to keep what you had. And after what you told me about what you had to do, to support yourself?”—Bucky blushed—“That makes me even more sure that it was the right decision. I don’t want to be just another John. I want more than that.”

Bucky winced at the word ‘John’, but then he looked over at Steve. “More? What do you want to be, then?”

“I want to be with you.”

“Like…”

“The intake form at the agency,” Steve said. “It asked about this, gave three categories. I checked ‘unsure’ because, well, because I was unsure. I just wanted to not starve, at the time. But now?” He looked at Bucky meaningfully. “If I had it to do over, I would check ‘romantic’.”

Bucky licked his lips. “You want that? With me?”

“Yeah.” Steve smiled. “I mean I think it’s pretty obvious we’re going to wind up sleeping together.” He let the hand that was on Bucky’s thigh slide up higher, almost at his crotch. “And I like you.”

“Yeah, me too.” Bucky held his breath. “And I got that paycheck you were so insistent on.”

“Yeah you did, didn’t you?” Steve’s eyes flicked up to his, and they were darker now, like they’d been when he was appreciating Bucky’s sweaty body post-workout, like they’d been the night before. “Do you want to fool around?”

Bucky released the breath he’d been holding. “Fuck, yes. I want to do more than ‘fool around’.”

“Is that so?” 

Bucky growled, shoved his drink to the end table, and grabbed Steve by the waist to heft him bodily onto his lap. 

Steve squeaked and his hands flew to Bucky’s shoulders, balancing himself as he came to straddle him. “You seem to like me like this,” he teased.

“Mm, yeah I do.” Bucky let his hands run up the planes of Steve’s back. “I thought about this last night, when I…” He faltered, embarrassed.

“When you??” Steve said knowingly. He leant forward and kissed him, forcing his lips open and licking into his mouth. He pulled away and put his lips to Bucky’s ear. “When you touched yourself?”

Bucky moaned. “Yes.”

Steve made a pleased noise in his throat. “What else did you think of, hm? What’d you think about to get yourself off?”

“Fuck.” Steve’s voice was so dark, so demanding. It made Bucky’s cock harden further. “Thought about how you held me down, how strong you are.” Bucky met Steve’s eyes boldly. “I thought about you wrapping your hands around my neck while you ride me.”

“Oh, Bucky.” Steve looked devastated at that. “Fuck, I want you.” In the next second he was kissing him again, mashing their mouths together with haste as his hands scrabbled to remove his own shirt. It came over his head, breaking them from their kiss, and then Bucky could see his bare torso, his chest and slim waist, his pale skin and tiny nipples. 

He groaned at the sight. “Aw, Steve. Jesus baby, look at you.” His hands went to Steve’s chest, running down over him and thumbs brushing his nipples as he went. He held him at the waist and said, “You’re so beautiful. You’ve gotta know that, right?”

Steve squirmed. “I’m scrawny.”

 _That_ made Bucky growl. He held Steve harder, leaning in to attack his neck with sucks and kisses. “You’re _gorgeous_ ,” he told him, leaving no room for argument. “Yeah you’re small. And I fucking love it. It’s hot.”

Steve groaned, hands coming up to run through Bucky’s hair, “Yeah? You like that you’re bigger than me?” Bucky nodded against where he was sucking a bruise into his neck. Steve rolled his hips down against his erection, then used his grip on Bucky’s hair to yank his head back. Bucky moaned loudly. Steve was grinning wickedly at him. “You get off on the fact that I’m small and I can control you, don’t you?”

“ _Uh, yes_ ,” Bucky panted. "Love it.”

Steve let go of his hair. He pushed Bucky’s shoulders back into the couch roughly. “Stay,” he commanded. Then he got off his lap and stood, quickly removing his pants and underwear, his socks. 

Bucky stared. “Oh _Stevie_.” He was gorgeous, perfect; just like Bucky had been imagining. 

Steve grabbed his cock, which was half-hard and flushed by now. He stroked himself slowly. “Take your clothes off,” he ordered. “We’re gonna do exactly what you fantasized about, last night.”

Bucky’s dick jerked and he scrambled to obey. Steve started walking away and Bucky made an undignified noise in protest. “Steve!”

“Hang on, I’m getting lube,” Steve told him. When he returned, Bucky had gotten his clothes off, and Steve took his turn staring. “Shit,” he said. “You really are built like a brick shithouse.”

Bucky laughed. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you’re getting fucked, is what it means,” Steve growled, climbing back onto his lap. Bucky grabbed onto his hips by default, holding him close. Steve purred at the contact and opened the lube, drizzling some onto his fingers and then taking both of their erections in hand. His fingers couldn’t even close around the both of them, his hand was so small. 

Bucky groaned as he watched. “Fuuuck.” The sight of his cock right up against Steve’s, slicked and shiny from the lube, flushed head pressing against Steve’s as he stroked them off tightly, was lewd and perfect and too damned much. Bucky grit his teeth, toes curling against the carpet at the pleasure. “Steve,” he groaned. “Fuck. Steve, give me some of that.”

Steve listened, drizzling lube onto Bucky’s hand when he held it out. His eyes widened when he realized what Bucky meant to do, but he raised up obediently so that Bucky could reach his hole. Steve’s hand released their cocks and he whimpered. “Oh, Bucky,”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured, wrapping an arm around Steve and pulling him close, his slicked hand reaching between his legs and touching his hole. He rubbed the pads of his fingers against him, spreading the lube around and making Steve whine. “Shh, sweetheart,” he soothed. “M’gonna get you ready for my cock. You want that?”

Steve shuddered, nodding against Bucky’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah.”

Bucky worked his fingers against him, circling and barely pressing around the muscle, waiting for him to relax and soften for him. Eventually, he did, and Bucky sunk a finger into him, slick and smooth. Steve cried out and Bucky shushed him. “I know, I know. Feel okay?”

Steve had his face buried in Bucky’s neck, panting. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Feels good.” He pushed his hips back against it, fucking Bucky’s finger. “Curl it,” he demanded. “Curl it and get my— _oh_ , yeeah.” Steve bit gently against the muscle of Bucky’s shoulder, “Fuuck. Gimme another.”

Bucky obliged, belly swirling in want at the way Steve was ordering him around, telling him exactly what he wanted. He worked another finger in alongside the first and started a gentle rhythm, pumping into Steve’s body to get him used to the sensation. “Yeah,” he breathed, kissing Steve’s shoulder and loving the way the smaller man was riding his fingers. “Fuck back on 'em, just like that.”

Steve kept at it, clinging tightly onto Bucky as he fucked him with his hand. Bucky worked up to three fingers, stuffing Steve full and making him whimper even louder. He crooked his hand, getting at his prostate and making him wail. “Enough!” Steve all but yelled. He sat back, pulled Bucky’s hand away and reached for the lube again. He squirted some messily on Bucky’s cock and belly. “Get yourself wet,” he commanded. He was already reaching back to push even more slick inside his body. Bucky groaned as he complied, squeezing his dick harshly to get some relief. Steve finished, shuffled forward, and it was only when he was just poised over him that Bucky’s hands froze, digging harshly into his hips to hold him still. “Wait!” Steve frowned, and Bucky panted, “We… we need a condom.”

Steve’s expression relaxed. “Oh. No Bucky. We don’t. I can’t catch anything. I can’t give you anything, either. I’m clean.” He rubbed a hand over Bucky’s pec. “Sorry, I should’ve told you.”

Bucky stared. “Seriously?” 

“Yeah.” Steve rocked his hips down, just far enough that the head of Bucky’s dick touched his entrance. “We don’t have to use protection unless you’re worried about cleanup,” he said. “And frankly, I like feeling cum trickle out of my ass, after.”

Bucky’s eyes slammed shut at those words. “ _Fuck_ , Steve. You can’t just _say_ that.” Steve laughed. His hand reached down and found Bucky’s dick, guiding it to his entrance. Bucky inhaled sharply at the feeling of his cock breaching Steve’s body. “Oh,” he gasped. “ _Ohh_ yeah.”

Steve shuddered as he sunk down, coming to rest, fully seated on Bucky’s cock. He was breathing harshly through his nose and he leant forward to press his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder. “Shit, you’re big.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” Bucky gritted out, holding still because he knew Steve needed him to. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just give me a minute.” Steve was panting, adjusting to the feeling and grinding his hips to get Bucky’s cock to rock inside his body the way he wanted. “Oh, god,” he sighed. “I _missed_ this.”

Bucky felt a thrill go through him, at the thought that he was giving Steve something he hadn’t had in a long time. He knew he wouldn’t ask now, but made a mental note to pry it out of him later. “Yeah?” he said. “You like sitting on my dick?”

Steve huffed, rocking his body a little harder. “Fuck yeah. Feels so fucking good. Wanna ride you.”

“Do it,” Bucky urged. He slid his hands down Steve’s bony hips, over his slim thighs. “Fuck me, take what you want.”

Steve pulled back, eyeing Bucky, clearly remembering what he’d said about wanting Steve to control him. His eyes burned, dark with arousal. “I’m gonna,” he said, and that was all the warning he gave before he was pressing forward with one hand, gripping Bucky’s throat and lifting his hips to draw his cock out of his body. 

Bucky moaned, loud and debased. Steve was doing exactly what he’d wanted, exactly what he’d imagined the night before when he was jerking himself off. Only this was better. Steve was more beautiful, more delicate, more fierce than Bucky ever could’ve imagined. Bucky dug his fingers into the skin above Steve’s knees, overwhelmed. 

“You like that,” Steve was saying as he rode him, working himself on his cock in deep, purposeful thrusts. “Yeah, you like it.” He obviously didn’t need Bucky’s answer—Bucky’s pants and groans were enough. Steve squeezed once at Bucky’s neck, just a little bit harder, and Bucky’s eyes flew wide at the sensation. 

“ _God_ , Steve, _fuck_. Just like that. Please, just like that.” Steve rode him harder, driven on by Bucky’s words. He was bouncing in his lap and he took his cock in hand and started jerking himself off in time with it, and when Bucky saw this his hips jolted up hard, throwing Steve off his rhythm. “Fuck!” Without any warning, he started to come; hot, fast pulses inside Steve’s body. His eyes slammed shut as he rode it out, fucking up into Steve desperately. Steve held on the whole time, saying encouraging things that Bucky didn’t have the mind to make sense of. When he came down from it, Steve was growling at him, calling him a good boy and fucking himself viciously down onto his cock, desperate to come. His hand was still gripped around Bucky’s neck, and Bucky watched him, panting from his orgasm and enjoying the show that was Steve Rogers, riding his dick.

When Steve came it was with a hitch of breath and a near-silent gasp, and Bucky instantly resolved to make him scream the next time they did this.

-

The next night, after fucking and falling asleep to the high of the bite, Bucky had twin puncture wounds in his neck. And for the first time in a long time, he had peace of mind as well. 

He didn’t know what the future held, but he at least knew it held Steve. And that was good enough for now. Maybe for forever.


End file.
